


Team Building Exercises For a Harmonious Workplace

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A Leitner Made Them Do It (The Magnus Archives), F/M, Foursome - F/M/M/M, M/M, Multi, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27592945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: “Oh, no,” Sasha says, in a horrified, delighted sort of way.“Okay, now I’ve gotta see this,” Tim says, getting up as well.Martin gets close enough to see the title printed out on the cover in big, blocky text. Team Building Exercises For a Harmonious Workplace.Tim lets out a bark of laughter as soon as he comes close enough to see it. Jon is holding the book like it’s a piece of garbage he’d very much like to drop into the bin before going to wash his hands, touching it as little as possible.-The Archives crew stumble across a Leitner.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Sasha James/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 61
Kudos: 363
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2020





	Team Building Exercises For a Harmonious Workplace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aunt_zelda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aunt_zelda/gifts).



"Who put this on my desk?” Jon demands. Martin looks up from his computer screen to see Jon standing in the doorway of his office, holding up a book like an accusation, looking at them all like he’s waiting for someone to step forward and confess. It’s cover is white with blue letters, and it looks glossy. That’s about all Martin can make out from a distance. 

“What is it?” Sasha asks. 

“A practical joke, god willing,” he says dryly. He gives Tim a pointed look at that, who puts his hands up as if to show that there are no visible signs of mischief on them. 

“Honestly, boss, I go a _bit_ wild on April Fools-- which is the one day of the year that I’m _supposed_ to get to have fun-- and you think I’m just constantly plotting and scheming to get you to open up a box of fake snakes or something. I’m innocent!” 

Sasha gets up to drift curiously towards the book Jon is holding, which Martin takes as a sign that he’s allowed to follow suit. 

“Oh, _no,”_ Sasha says, in a horrified, delighted sort of way. 

“Okay, now I’ve gotta see this,” Tim says, getting up as well. 

Martin gets close enough to see the title printed out on the cover in big, blocky text. _Team Building Exercises For a Harmonious Workplace._

Tim lets out a bark of laughter as soon as he comes close enough to see it. Jon is holding the book like it’s a piece of garbage he’d very much like to drop into the bin before going to wash his hands, touching it as little as possible. 

“Okay, that’s hilarious,” Tim says. “Well done, whoever’s behind this one.” 

“So you didn’t do it,” Jon checks, sounding terribly skeptical about this. 

“Afraid I can’t claim credit, boss,” Tim says humbly. He turns his gaze on Martin and Sasha speculatively. “Which leaves only two culprits. Could it be the genius mastermind, Sasha James? Or the mild mannered Martin Blackwood? It’s always the ones you least suspect, you know.” 

“I didn’t,” Martin hurries to defend himself. Jon might tolerate a dumb prank from Tim sometimes, but from Martin… yeah, no. He rubs Jon the wrong way enough as it is without him going out of his way to antagonize him for the sake of a joke. 

“If I was going to prank Jon, you either would’ve known it was me from the start, or you wouldn’t even have known that you’d gotten pranked at all,” Sasha says matter of factly. 

Tim shivers theatrically. “Ooh, _scary._ Remind me not to get on your bad side, Sash.” 

“Well, if it wasn’t any of you then… _someone_ must’ve left it in my office,” Jon says with dissatisfaction. He casts another suspicious glare over them all, like they’re all a cast of eccentric characters with ties to the murder victim, a motive to do it, and alibis full of holes, and it’s up to him to sniff out who the perpetrator is. 

“Could be Elias,” Sasha points out. “Maybe he thinks we’re not enough of a _harmonious workplace.”_

Considering how often Jon ends up raising his voice when Martin inevitably ends up irritating or disappointing him, Elias wouldn’t be entirely wrong for coming to that conclusion. He keeps his mouth shut about that particular musing. If they do end up having to-- what, shout directions to a blindfolded member of their department to help them traverse the obstacle course of their office-- then he’d rather not catch the blame for it. 

“Oh, good lord, no,” Jon says, his face twisting with distress at the idea. “If he tells us that we have to read this…” 

“... We might actually have to do it,” Tim finishes for him. 

“That-- that could be fun?” Martin suggests weakly. Everyone turns to give him a look, and he scrambles to defend himself. “I mean-- it could be! T-- team building exercises, those are mainly just games meant to encourage bonding right? Playing.” 

Jon looks like he’s bitten into a lemon. “Playing at work,” he says, sounding extremely unimpressed with the idea. “As if we don’t have enough to do as it is without wasting our time on games?” 

“I’m imagining us doing trust falls now,” Tim says. “And it’s glorious. Jon, would you be able to catch a single one of us?” 

Oh, god, good point. If Martin did a trust fall with Jon, Martin _would_ fall. Because Jon _let_ him fall, probably. Not that he’d be able to catch him even if he tried, of course. That would just end with Martin taking him down along with him. 

“We will be doing _no_ such thing,” Jon says sternly, as if he can will it to be so if he just infuses his voice with enough disapproval. 

“Well, open it up and give it a skim,” Sasha prods him. “There might not even be trust fall exercises in that book.” 

“Yeah, boss. Help us see what horrors we’re going to have to brace ourselves for.” 

Still looking like he’s touching something he rather wishes he weren’t, Jon opens the book somewhere in the middle. 

“To be able to trust your coworker, a precedent of trust must first be set,” he reads out. “You have to give your coworker a chance to come through for you and do right by you, and then you must let your coworker take care of you again and again, until trusting them becomes a learned reflex, a new instinct, something that comes to you immediately, thoughtlessly, never even questioned.

“Let them see you vulnerable, and see that they won’t hurt you for it. Let them help fulfill your needs, and see that they won’t leave you wanting. Bare yourself to them, and they’ll bare themselves to you.” 

Jon frowns, stops reading. He flips a few more pages, his eyes darting across the lines. 

“... It just goes on like that,” he says. “I’m not seeing any outlined _exercises.”_

“Check the index?” Sasha suggests. 

“I love it when work seminars and posters and shit talk like our jobs are the most transcendental, meaningful part of our lives. I’m going to play charades with you guys and then I’m going to weep blissful tears like my baby just got born when Martin correctly guesses that I’m a stork,” Tim says. 

“... Jon?” Martin asks, concerned. “What’s wrong?” 

Jon has gone very, very still, his face ashen, his eyes wide. He lets go of the book, and it falls to the floor. Jon stares at it like he’s afraid that it’s going to twitch and lunge at him. 

“Boss?” 

“Leitner,” he croaks. He takes a step back from the book, and then looks at his hands, holding them away from himself like he’s touched something dirty and he now has to wash the gunk off. “The _one_ time I don’t check--” 

“It’s a Leitner?” Sasha asks sharply. She follows Jon’s lead, taking a step back herself, putting an arm out and pushing Tim back as well as she goes. She’s looking at the book like it’s something dangerous now as well. A bomb in need of disarming, a serious threat. 

A chill goes up Martin’s spine. He’s heard about Leitners. He knows that they’re real, because there was one that kept managing to teleport from Artefact Storage to the Library every few months, innocently mingling amongst the other books on the shelves there like it had always belonged. Everyone in the library department had to be trained in how to spot it and what to do when they found it. 

More than that though, seeing Jon and Sasha and Tim, all people that he respects in their own ways, go serious and grim faced at the sight of one… it’s more than enough to make Martin skitter a few steps back on his own, even if he’s never actually _seen_ what a Leitner can do, only heard tales and rumours. 

“Yes,” Jon says, and he wipes his hands on his sweater vest, as if to get some sort of residue off of himself. “I-- I don’t think any harm was done? Perhaps I didn’t read enough of it for-- for its _effect_ to take hold. I don’t _feel_ strange, at least. Do any of you?” 

They all take a moment to think this over. 

“No,” Sasha says. “I feel fine.” 

“All clear,” Tim choruses. 

“Y-- yeah, I’m good.” 

“Of course,” Sasha says, “there are those Leitners that warp you enough that you don’t really notice that something’s gone wrong.” 

“Yes, Sasha, very helpful,” Jon snaps, looking like he’s holding himself in a very, very tense way. 

“Just saying,” she says, unphased. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Tim says. “I mean, there’s four of us here. If one of us starts acting funny, the other three will notice and… make sure that they don’t eat themselves or something.” 

Martin blanches at that visual, his eyes darting over towards Jon. Jon was the one who touched the book, who read from it. If anything’s going to happen to anyone it’s him. From the way Jon curls his shaking hands into fists, as if to try and hide the trembling, Martin doesn’t think that Jon needs that pointed out to him. 

Martin resolves himself: if anything happens to Jon, if he starts trying to-- to _hurt_ himself, or someone else, then Martin’s going to stop him. No matter what. 

“We should notify Artefact Storage,” Martin says. “Get them to get this thing out of here.” 

“Obviously,” Jon says. 

“We should do the team building exercise first, though,” Sasha says. “It might run long, and there’s only a few hours of the work day left.” 

Martin blinks. “What?” 

“The team building exercise,” Jon says impatiently. “Do keep up, Martin.” 

“I don’t…” Tim says, looking confused for just a moment before his face clears up. “Oh, right! Yeah, that.” 

Sasha starts unbuttoning her blouse, and that’s when it clicks inside of his head. _Right,_ the exercise they’re supposed to do. He’s so forgetful sometimes, it’s embarrassing. He hurriedly starts undressing as well, scrambling to catch up with the others. Tim’s just shrugged off his shirt in one motion, his chest already bare, but Jon’s still undoing his tie. 

Sasha laughs. “Eager, aren’t you?” she says teasingly to Tim, and pulls him in by a hold on the nape of his neck, leaning up just a bit to kiss him. Tim kisses her back enthusiastically, hands going away from the fly of his trousers to her hips. 

“Can you blame me?” he asks her, parting only an inch away from her lips before diving right back in. She makes an amused, muffled sound and loops her arms around his neck as he kisses her. They look beautiful together. 

“Martin,” Jon says, annoyed. Martin tears his eyes away from Tim and Sasha to find that Jon’s standing closer to him, glaring up at him, his shirt half unbuttoned. “Don’t just stand there,” he grumps at him. 

\--Oh, right. Martin had let his hands go still while he was watching Tim and Sasha, distracted. 

“Sorry,” he says reflexively, and Jon sighs at him. 

“Don’t be sorry, just get undressed already,” he says, even though he’s as clothed as Martin is, really. Tim and Sasha seem to be really interested in kissing each other right now, but they’re still sparing a bit of attention to push each other's clothes off as they go, so they’re already most of the way there. 

“Right, definitely,” he says anyways, because nothing gets Jon as prickly as pointing out that he may indeed have done something wrong himself. He gets the rest of his clothes off in just a few moments. Jon, meanwhile, is still unbuttoning his shirt, looking increasingly frustrated as he goes. 

Tim tilts his head back from the kiss and laughs. Sasha takes the opportunity to lavish his throat with some attention. “Your fiddly little buttons,” he says. “Help the poor man out, Martin. Just rip it off.” 

“Oh, um-- yeah, course!” He likes being helpful. 

Reaching out, he grabs both sides of Jon’s shirt, and then _pulls._ Threads tear and snap, and buttons pop off and clatter onto the floor. 

Tim and Sasha both make delighted noises at this. Jon looks at him with wide eyes, the annoyed look nowhere to be seen. A gratified little thrill runs up his spine at that. 

“Was that okay?” he asks, just to be sure. 

“It-- it was fine,” Jon says, talking just a bit too quickly, his gaze slinking away from meeting Martin’s. Martin tentatively smiles. 

He goes ahead and takes the rest of Jon’s clothes off for him as well, and Jon doesn’t make any comments or protests about it, which is as good as confirmation that he likes it. 

“Hang on, wait,” Tim says. Martin looks over towards them. Sasha has sunk her attentions on Tim further south by now, her focus now on his pecs, his nipples, her fingers appreciatively rubbing and gently tugging at one while she teases at the other with her mouth. Tim looks flushed, his cock standing out hard between his legs, and he looks a bit like it’s killing him to interrupt what Sasha’s doing to him. “No, no, seriously, just a moment, please.” 

_“Why,”_ Sasha says, sounding incredibly put off by having to stop mouthing at Tim’s tits for even a moment. They’re really nice tits, Martin has to grant. He really wants to touch them himself. Taste them. 

“I have a good reason!” he protests. Bending down, he picks his pants up back up from the floor. 

“I wouldn’t expect these sorts of unnecessary diversions and delays from _you,_ Tim,” Jon says, which, _hey._ He’s getting digs in on Martin when other people annoy him, now? That’s not fair!

“You’re giving him too much credit,” Sasha says. “Remember that time he gave you a case file that was just the Slenderman creepy pasta, and you didn’t realize for ages? You put so much work into it.” 

Jon flushes, drawing himself up with defensive huffines. “Excuse me if I’m not perfectly up to date on every little modern urban myth--” 

“It’s got a _video game--”_

“Found it!” Tim says, and Martin’s strangely relieved at the interruption. He always feels so… so _something,_ when Tim and Sasha and Jon start talking about something that happened between the three of them back in their Research days that Martin wasn’t there to see himself. Reminiscing over memories that he doesn’t share with them. It makes him feel like… a ghost, or an audience member watching characters talk to each other on TV. Separated from them. 

Which is stupid of him, really. They can share stories and in jokes that he doesn’t share with him with each other without him getting all-- all sad and jealous and pathetic about it. Or he should be able to, at least. 

There’s a weird urge tugging at his tongue to _tell_ them about this, which is obviously the last thing he should do. He shouldn’t make anyone uncomfortable, shouldn’t make them feel bad for simply knowing each other for longer than they’ve known him. They’re ugly feelings that no one wants to see, not even Martin. He swallows the urge down, and focuses on what Tim’s proudly brandishing forth, dug out of one of his trouser pockets. 

“Lube packets and condoms,” Jon says. “To _work._ Really, Tim?” 

“Oi, shut it, mister haughty. I’ll have you know that I had something planned for _after_ work. And it’s good to be prepared, anyways. Right, guys? This is going to make everything way more fun.” 

Sasha plucks one of the condoms out of Tim’s hand. 

“It will,” she agrees. “This way you boys can all fully fuck each other, which I know is a show I’m going to appreciate.” 

“At least someone here appreciates me,” Tim sniffs theatrically. 

“Thank you for the lube, Tim,” Martin makes sure to say. “Can I have some? And one of the condoms.” 

Tim chuckles and casually tosses a lube packet and condom at him, which Martin just barely catches. Sasha tears open her condom with her teeth, and immediately sets to eagerly rolling it down on Tim’s cock. 

“I was just kidding, Marto,” he says warmly. “Your pleases and thank yous are appreciated, but not mandatory.” 

“They don’t hurt though, do they?” 

“They don’t.” 

_“Martin.”_

“Oh-- sorry, sorry,” Martin hurries to say, turning his attention back on Jon. He leans down and kisses him apologetically. He seems to catch Jon off guard with the gesture, but he kisses back after a moment, pressing his lips hard against Martin’s a bit ineptly, a bit like he thinks that more pressure automatically equals good. He’s strangely charmed by it, and he’s smiling again when he pulls back. Jon’s impatient frown seems to have softened at the edges as well, which is very good for Martin’s nerves. 

“I’ll sit on my desk,” Sasha is telling Tim. “You’ll get a back ache if you just try and hold me up yourself the whole time. And drop me when you come.” 

“One time,” Tim says long sufferingly. “I did that one time. Will I never be forgiven?” 

“We’ve also only fucked one time, so you’ve technically done that one hundred percent of the times that we’ve fucked.” 

“Don’t use statistics against me, witch! And I was drunk, so my actions shouldn’t be held against me.” 

Jon casts a look at Tim and Sasha that’s half annoyance, half anxiety. Sasha’s seating herself on the edge of her desk, Tim setting his hands on the desk at either side of her hips, caging her in, and she wraps her legs around his waist encouragingly. 

“They’re already going to engage in penetration, and we’re not even halfway there,” Jon says, so quietly that it’s almost just to himself. 

“Are you-- Jon, it’s not a _competition,”_ Martin says. 

“I know that! It’s just-- we’re lagging behind.” 

Martin laughs a little bit incredulously. Jon glares at him for that, like Martin’s laughing _at_ him. Martin clears his throat, and holds the lube packet and condom up. “Sorry, I’ll get a move on. So, um, which role would you like?” 

Jon blinks. “What?” 

Charmed. He really shouldn’t be _this_ charmed. But he is. 

“I mean, do you want to be the one who gets the lube, or the one who gets the condom? Do you have a preference, or--” 

That’s when Martin notices it, and his stomach drops a bit. 

“I-- I’m sorry,” he says. “Am I doing something wrong?” 

“Well, you did say that you were going to get a move on, and you still aren’t,” Jon says, but it’s lacking in any venom. His frown almost looks concerned as he looks up at Martin, this time. “Is something the matter?” 

“I should be asking you that, shouldn’t I?” he asks, and Jon just looks more confused. Has he seriously not noticed? “You’re not hard, Jon.” 

Jon looks down, as if to check and see. And he isn’t. His cock lies there, soft and uninterested in current proceedings. It’s not stirring even slightly. Martin had thought Jon was enjoying himself. Or at least, that he was having a reasonably okay time. Martin’s cock is _aching_ from being surrounded by beautiful, naked people, people that he likes. Tim is rock hard, and Sasha’s so wet that he can _hear_ the effortless glide of Tim’s dick inside of her. And Jon, meanwhile, is soft. What is Martin doing wrong? Did he kiss him the wrong way, touch him the wrong way? Is he just-- repellent to him? God, please no-- 

“Oh,” Jon says. “Yes, don’t worry about that, Martin. It rarely does anything, even during sex. So I suppose that I’m going to be the one who uses the lube packet by default, then.” 

“--oh,” Martin says, feeling profoundly relieved to have it confirmed that he hasn’t ruined anything, hasn’t made Jon uncomfortable by doing anything wrong. “Is it-- erectile dysfunction? Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked--” 

“Martin, stop rambling,” Jon says, but he still doesn’t look properly angry, even though Martin just put his foot in his mouth. He just looks a bit impatient to get past this conversation, maybe. “It could be erectile dysfunction, I don’t know, I don’t care. It doesn’t bother me. I suppose I’m just not that easily… _affected.”_

“... You don’t enjoy it?” he asks anxiously. He wants to do things Jon will _enjoy_ to him. It’s no fun if Jon won’t like it. 

“I didn’t say that. I just… enjoy it _differently_ than you might, I think. I get different things out of it.” 

“Oh my god,” Sasha gasps, and Martin thinks for a moment that it’s only because of a particularly delicious thrust of Tim’s hips until she continues, “they’re _still_ just talking.” 

Tim laughs breathlessly into her shoulder as he fucks her. “I think it might be foreplay for them.” 

Jon scowls, and pointedly plucks the lube packet out of Martin’s hand and opens it. Martin hurries to get the condom on himself, while Jon tries to squeeze every drop of lube out onto the palm of his hand like it’s a ketchup packet. He reaches his now slick hand behind him, up between his legs. Martin watches as his brow furrows with concentration, and heat spikes in the pit of his stomach at the knowledge of what he’s doing, of _seeing_ what he’s doing. Getting ready for Martin. 

Martin’s already got his condom on. Sasha does something that makes Tim moan, a wonderful noise. Jon bites his lower lip as he fingers himself. 

Martin drifts hesitantly closer. He knows that Jon doesn’t like it when he-- hovers, stands too close. But he’s feeling a bit useless right now, as Jon works himself open and he just stands here and uselessly twiddles his thumbs. 

“Are you-- is it going alright?” he asks him softly, because he can see strain in Jon’s face, but he _isn’t_ seeing pleasure, or heat. “Just-- just because you aren’t hard doesn’t mean that I have to be the one who fucks you. You could suck me off, if you want.” 

“I can handle it,” Jon bites at him. He looks tense, and he can see that he won’t stop moving his hand. 

It makes Martin’s stomach clench up a bit, and not in the fun way, that Jon’s still snappish and sharp, that he doesn’t look happy or relaxed or like he’s enjoying this much at all, really. 

“Let me help,” he says. 

“I don’t need it,” Jon says. 

Fully formed, the phrase plops into his head: _a good coworker makes their needs known._

 _“Let me,”_ he repeats himself, more forcefully this time, taking a step closer. Jon stops, and looks at him, his expression taken off guard. Martin quickly takes a step back again. “I mean-- not if you don’t want it, of course, I just-- I _can_ help you if you want that, if you’re fine with that--” 

“Fine,” he says. 

“--and I’m sorry-- what?” 

“I said fine. You can help. Although I don’t see _how._ I have it fairly under hand. I understand the concept, and I tried it with G-- with my ex once before. It just takes time to… loosen everything up.” 

The idea of Jon getting fucked by someone else is-- _weirdly_ infuriating. It makes him want to pick Jon up and carry him off somewhere where only he knows he is. He tries to shake the strange impulse off. 

“It’s okay if it takes time,” he says. “But you don’t need to-- to be so tense during it. It looks like you’re not really enjoying yourself.” 

“It’s not meant to be enjoyable. It’s preparation for something that is. Driving to the beach isn’t fun, it’s being at the beach that’s the point.” 

“What,” Martin says, “you’ve never had a fun road trip with someone before? Singing songs, playing word games?” 

Martin hasn’t really had that either. He dimly remembers his dad getting road rage if he had to drive for longer than an hour, and his mum would get stiff and sore and cranky from sitting still for too long. It was best to just stay quiet and look out the window, try and avoid making any arguments spark. But he’s seen movies. He knows the trip can be just as fun as the destination. 

Jon rolls his eyes and huffs at him, but he does stop fingering himself, his hand slipping out. Martin touches it briefly, squeezes it a bit to get some of the remaining lube there onto his own hand, then he puts one hand on Jon’s lower back, pulling him in close in a half embrace. Jon’s breath is warm against his shoulder, his collarbone. Martin carefully slips a single finger into Jon. He’s already made himself slick, but he’s still so _tight._ Martin’s fingers are broad. He has to be slow, gentle. 

Jon makes an aborted noise into Martin’s skin. 

“Alright?” he checks. 

“F-- fine,” he says. “It just-- I’ve always done that part myself, before. It’s… different.” 

“Bad different?” 

“Just different. Will you _hurry up,_ already?” 

“What’s the rush?” he asks him. 

“Only you would ask that question,” he grumbles, but Martin notices that Jon doesn’t have an actual answer for him. 

That’s the problem, he thinks. Jon was being merciless with himself, pushing and pushing as much as he could as fast as he could, trying to get it all over with quickly. But Martin _knows_ that fingering can be fun. It can be slow and careful and luxurious, to the point that it’s all that’s needed for an orgasm to roll through him. He wants to give Jon that, even if his cock is still soft. He wants to make this feel good, nothing hurting or chafing, rushed or sloppy. 

He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Jon’s head. That, of all things, makes Jon _shiver._ Martin notices, because he’s pressed up all against him. 

What had Jon said? That he just enjoys it differently? Is this part of it, is this the part he likes? The softness, the fondness, the intimacy? Because Martin can give him that in _spades._ He’s always wanted to have someone to give that to, someone who would be happy to receive it. And now, all of a sudden, he has that person, tucked up underneath his arm as he ever so gently slips a second finger up into him, fingering him so slowly that it’s more like he’s rubbing and stroking the inside of him than thrusting. 

He leans down and presses another kiss to the side of Jon’s face, sweet and chaste, even as he works him open with one slick hand. 

“You already feel really good, just around my fingers,” he tells him, and he keeps his voice low, tender. He’s not good at dirty talk, or, he’s not _practiced_ at it. But this is different, he thinks. He’s not trying to be filthy, here. “I bet you’re going to feel _incredible_ around my cock. It’s so nice of you to let me do this to you, to do this for me. Thank you.” 

A whimper escapes Jon at that, a noise that he’d _never_ expected to hear coming out of him. It hits Martin with a swell of satisfaction that’s like being hit with a tidal wave. _He_ made _Jon_ make that noise. 

He goes on like that, fingering him with merciless kindness and murmuring sweet nothings into his ear as Jon shudders in his arms. It’s _nice._ He likes it. 

Tim and Sasha are much less sweet, and much less quiet. 

“Fuck fuck _fuck,”_ Sasha swears. Martin glances over at them from where he’s resting his head on top of Jon’s. He can see that her toes are curled, her leg twitching almost like it’s cramping. Tim’s sped up significantly since Martin zeroed in on Jon for a bit there. He’s _pounding_ into her at this point, braced against the desk and straining as she holds onto him. Martin sees a trickle of sweat run down his back, the muscles standing out from how tense he is. He’s holding back on his orgasm, Martin realizes. Waiting for her to go first. 

How… chivalrous? 

“How ‘m I doing?” he asks her, his voice a bit slurred, like he’s fucking her too hard to properly enunciate. He smiles at her, sloppy and giddy. “Better’n last time, right?” 

She laughs at that. Martin remembers nervously giggling during his first time, and the guy had stopped, frowned, asked him what he meant by it. It just makes Tim smile wider. Martin’s stomach sort of flops at the sight of it. God, he’s handsome. He always is, but sometimes he says or does something that very keenly reminds him of this fact that’s mostly faded back into the background by now. 

“I guess it’s fine,” she says, mock reluctantly. “I’d give it a B plus-- _oh!”_

Tim’s relentless pace slows, but only so that he can slip a hand into the space between their bodies to do something that makes Sasha’s back arch, gasping. Presumably, he’s doing something to her clit. He keeps going, his hips only gently swaying into her now, like the lazy lapping of waves on the shore, all of his focus now on his hand, on making higher and higher noises spill out of her as her body winds tighter and tighter, her legs locked behind his back, her arms around his neck. He’s looking intently at her face with dark eyes, like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. It makes Martin’s mouth dry just to see it, that intensity. 

“Feels good, yeah?” Tim says, softer this time, less brash and teasing. “I can help you feel good, Sash. As much as you want.” 

He leans forward to plant an off center kiss on the corner of her mouth, and Martin can _see_ the orgasm roll over her in the way her limbs shudder, in the broken noise that falls out of her mouth. 

“God,” she finally says after a long moment, sounding wrecked. 

“Yes?” Tim says impishly. She smacks him lightly on the shoulder, loose limbed and lax. She smiles at him, a smile that Martin’s never seen before. Warm and utterly relaxed, sparkling. 

“Shut up and fuck me,” she says, and he does so without having to be told twice, his hips snapping back into motion. 

“Martin,” Jon says, and he doesn’t sound annoyed or impatient this time. He sounds openly, blatantly _needy,_ and it makes Martin’s attention swivel back onto him on a dime. 

“Jon,” he says apologetically, because really, he shouldn’t be paying attention to anything or anyone but Jon right now, no matter how pretty Tim and Sasha look together. He’s got his _hand_ inside him. He leans down and kisses him on the mouth, just a press of lips against lips, and he moves his fingers. He’s managed to get three inside of him now, and Jon isn’t tightly clenched around them any longer. Jon sighs against his lips, a quiet groan like someone’s giving him a shoulder massage. “How does that feel?” 

“I… admit that you’re perhaps more experienced with this skill than I,” he says reluctantly, and Martin just can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his chest at that. Jon leans back to shoot him a defensive glare. “What?” 

“Nothing,” he says, smiling, feeling so achingly fond. “That was just a very _you_ thing to say.” 

Jon gives him a look like he’s not sure if he was just insulted or not. Martin presses a kiss next to his eye, like a stamp, and he slowly pulls his fingers back out of Jon, who exhales heavily at the feeling. He wipes his damp fingers on the warm skin of Jon’s back. 

“Turn around?” he asks him. 

“Right,” he says, and does. Martin runs his hands down Jon’s sides until they settle on his hips. He’s so _slim,_ especially underneath Martin’s broad hands. It sort of kills him. 

“Bend over a bit?” he asks, his mouth feeling dry. 

Jon listens to him without complaint, bending until he’s got his elbows on the desk in front of him, and just the sight punches the air out of his lungs for a moment. Jon looks over his shoulder at him, quizzical and impatient. 

“What are you waiting for?” he asks. 

He takes a deep breath. The next time he speaks, it’s not a tentative request. “Spread your legs.” 

After a moment, Jon spreads his legs. Bent over, naked, elbows braced on the desk, some slick lube dribbling onto his inner thighs. He looks like the most tempting invitation Martin’s ever seen. 

Taking hold of his cock, he spreads Jon’s cheeks with his other hand, and then feeds his dick into his slicked open hole. He hears Jon’s breath audibly gust out of him as soon as he’s only got the head in. He’s so _small,_ and Martin’s cock is so big. Fuck, that fact makes him feel like his blood has been replaced with fire in his veins. He sets a hand on Jon’s hip, the other on the small of his back, and he fucks into him by _inches,_ in and out, going just a little bit deeper with each thrust. He’s going to be so slow, and so careful, that it won’t hurt Jon even slightly. He’ll only feel good. He’ll only feel good, and it’s going to be because of _him._

Jon hisses curses and shakes, and Martin decides that he’s going to make him _howl._ He’s going to make him sing Martin’s praises, instead of scolding or snapping at him. He’s going to fuck him like no one’s ever fucked him before. He’s going to fuck him _so sweetly._

And he’s going to take his time with it. 

Tim makes a soft, broken noise against her neck as he finally comes, and Sasha adores it. There’s nothing big or lively or boisterous about it, just giving into his own pleasure. She strokes a hand down his sweaty back approvingly, watching Martin fuck Jon over his shoulder. It’s the furthest thing from a hard, rough pounding, and yet Jon’s whining and moaning like it is one. As she watches, Martin murmurs something that sounds soft and fond, and leans down to press a kiss to the back of Jon’s neck. Jon shudders and groans. He looks like he’s trying to twitch his hips back onto Martin’s dick, to meet his rhythm, to hurry it along, but Martin isn’t letting him. He holds Jon in place _easily,_ and fucks him at his leisure. 

It’s a very nice view. 

“As-- as nice as being inside of you is,” Tim says, and Sasha remembers herself and unlocks her legs from around Tim. He pulls out of her carefully, his softening cock slipping out. Her cunt aches a bit, and she can’t decide if it’s because he just fucked her like he wanted for her to remember the sensation for the rest of her life, or if she just misses the pressure of him inside of her, like there’s something missing now that he’s gone. 

Tim slips the used condom off himself, tying it in a knot before tossing it into a nearby paper waste bin full of scribbled on post it notes and papers and wrappers. He leans forward and presses a warm, sloppy, exhausted kiss to her mouth. He’s so overheated that she can feel the heat of him even where he’s a few inches away from touching her, and he’s trembling finely, like he’s a second away from collapsing his weight onto her. 

He’d really put his back into it, hadn’t he. 

“Need a break?” she asks him teasingly. 

“Pfft,” Tim says, despite the way his hair is a bit plastered to his forehead with sweat, and gives her a cocky smile. “Nah. I can keep going. Want my mouth?” 

_Oh,_ that sounds good, good enough to make her pinch her thighs shut as the heat simmering in the pit of her belly flares sharply for a moment. She’s never had his mouth before. They’ve only done this once in the past, and they’d both been pretty drunk then. Her memories of that night are a little bit hazy, indistinct at the edges, but she knows they were nowhere near coordinated enough for anything more sophisticated than grinding their hips together until they both came. They’d forgotten to use _condoms,_ for fuck’s sake. 

She has a feeling that having Tim’s mouth on her would be very, very enjoyable. She may or may not have daydreamed about it more than once. 

But she pats his shoulder instead. “Take five minutes,” she says. “You look like you need it.” 

The cocky, charming smile falls off his face for a moment, but he picks it back up quickly. He leans in and presses a series of kisses to her neck. 

“I’m not gonna just roll over and fall asleep this time,” he tells her. “I can keep going. I can make you feel good. Promise.” 

She laughs as he nuzzles into the crook of her neck, ticklish. She pushes him away with a hand on his head, like discouraging an overly affectionate dog from licking her face. 

“You’ve already made me feel pretty damned good if you didn’t notice,” she says. 

“No, but,” he says. “I can make you feel it even _more._ Better. Again and again, as much as you want.” 

“Promise?” she says. She _likes_ the sound of that. 

“Promise,” he says fervently, and he isn’t grinning or joking, she realizes belatedly. He looks intense, serious. 

She’s missing something. 

He leans in to kiss her again, but she stops him. She leans back slightly and he stops immediately, but now that she’s looking for it, a flash of hurt briefly flickers across his face before he tucks it away. She frowns. She _is_ missing something. She doesn’t like that feeling. She doesn’t like Tim being upset either. She’s going to fix both of those things, right now. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks him. 

“Nothing,” he assures her quickly. 

“No, something definitely is,” she says confidently. “Tell me.” 

“There’s not--” 

“Good coworkers communicate honestly with each other to solve problems together,” she says, and it feels like the _truth,_ even if she doesn’t remember formulating the words before she’d spoken them, like they’d been ready and waiting for her. 

Tim blinks rapidly, and then his shoulders slump a bit with resignation. “You’re… you’re right.” 

“Of course I am,” she says. 

“It’s just,” he says, “I’m sober this time. I can do a better job than last time. I swear I can. I can make it as good for you as you want, just give me a _chance.”_

She blinks. “Tim, it’s not like last time was some sort of clumsy disaster. I had a good time then too.” 

“But not good _enough,”_ he says intensely. “Because we never did it again after that, did we? But I was drunk, I can do better than that.” 

“That’s… Tim, I wasn’t _disappointed_ or anything.” 

“Then why didn’t we ever have sex again? Why don’t we ever talk about it?” he asks, and he sounds _raw,_ wounded, vulnerable. It catches her deeply off guard. 

Has this really been bothering him so much, ever since that night? She hadn’t even noticed. He’d been so understanding, made it all so _easy_ to let go of afterwards, that it hadn’t even seemed like he particularly cared. He hadn’t been strange or awkward about anything. He’d just continued to be her friend, like normal. It had been such a _relief_ that he hadn’t avoided her or not looked her in the eye the next day when she came into work. She would’ve missed him. 

“I…” she says, grasping for the right thing to say. She wasn’t _expecting_ this. “I didn’t realize that you wanted to talk about it. That you wanted to do any of it again. I thought that it was just a thing that happened between us.” 

Because sex is just a casual thing for Tim, isn’t it? Something he does for fun with the people that he likes. It’s not a _big deal._ Except, apparently it is this time, and she doesn’t understand what makes this time different for him. 

He rubs a thumb in a circle on her hip. He still looks terribly honest, flayed open. Soft, like she could reach out and really _hurt_ him in this moment if she wanted to. 

She doesn’t want to. 

“Of course I wanted to do it again,” he says, so earnestly. “You’re Sasha James. I’d have to be mad not to want to have a tumble in the sheets with you.” 

He says _Sasha James_ like she’s a rockstar. She tips her head back and laughs, flattered. He grins at her, pleased at making her laugh. 

“Well, alright then, you should’ve said. You can take me for a tumble any time you like, Mr. Stoker. I _did_ have a good time,” she says, and then continues more seriously. “I really did, you know. I’ve been wanting to do it again, too. Thought about it late at night when I was alone. But I didn’t want to risk it. We managed to get out of it the first time without it hurting our friendship, and I didn’t want to push my luck, you know? That’s all.” 

“I promise you,” he says, “that I won’t ever, ever stop being your friend. That’s way more important than sex, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she agrees, and feels _terribly_ fond of this man in this moment. What had she been so afraid of, really? It’s _Tim._ She could screw him nine ways to Sunday, and he’d never make her feel strange or awkward or uncomfortable for it. He’s still always going to be her friend. So, she might as well do the screwing as well, because he really is a fun ride. 

She pulls him back in and kisses him thoroughly, feeling warm and pleased. She feels well fucked--but eager for more-- and she’s fixed something. There was a problem, Tim was upset, but she cleared it up and now he’s smiling at her again. She’s proud, and that sparks something heated inside of her, something that wants to celebrate. 

_“Martin!”_

They stop kissing, and turn and look towards the other two people in this room. Martin is still fucking into Jon, his hips a langurous, steady roll, like thrusting into Jon is something luxurious and decadent that he’s lingering in, like letting a piece of chocolate melt on your tongue instead of eagerly scarfing it down. His eyes are closed, the expression on his face blissful and reverential as his dick slides in and out of Jon. Jon’s back is arched, and he’s _clawing_ ineffectually at the desk he’s bent over with his blunt nails. 

“Shh,” Martin says, not picking the pace up even slightly. “It’s okay, Jon.” 

Jon makes an _agonized_ sound, and Martin keeps him exactly where he is, not letting his hips budge an inch, his hands firm around them. 

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type to be mean in bed, Martin,” Tim says, but he sounds delighted as he says it, approving and impressed. 

“Absolutely merciless,” Sasha agrees. 

Martin’s eyes open dazedly, and he looks over towards them like he’d forgotten they were even there. She supposes that that must be a testament to how incredible Jon must feel right now, clenched tight and hot and slick around Martin’s dick. She licks her lips, another little ember lighting up needily inside of her. She rubs her thighs together, and watches them hungrily. 

“What d’you mean?” he asks them, sounding honestly confused. His already slow and gentle thrusting stills completely, and Jon _wails._ Martin still doesn’t let him move. It doesn’t even look like it takes him much effort to hold him in place. 

“Oh my god,” Tim says, and Sasha laughs. Tim moves away from her, enough so that she has enough space to hop off the desk she’s been sitting on. They both approach Jon and Martin. 

“You don’t have to spank someone and call them a slut to be cruel,” she says. 

“How long have you been fucking the poor guy by now? I’m sure you can just let him have it already,” says Tim. 

“Unless you want to make him act as your cockwarmer for the rest of the day?” she asks, amused. 

A look flickers across Martin’s face like he’s actually tempted by her idle joke. Jon makes a wordless, desperate noise. 

“Oh, don’t even think about it,” says Tim. “You don’t get to hog Jon all to yourself!” 

“I-- excuse me?” Martin says, his voice breaking. Jon whines and tries to push himself deeper down onto Martin’s dick, but his arms buckle and lose leverage before Martin’s even tremble with effort. He just has to brace himself for a moment, his muscles flexing. They’re not that noticeable underneath the soft padding of his fat, but they’re very much there. “Why not? You and Sasha have each other! I don’t see why I can’t-- can’t keep him here for the rest of the day.” 

“Wow,” she says. “Mean in bed _and_ possessive. I feel like we’re learning a lot about you today.” 

“I’m not possessive! Or mean! How is this mean? I’m being _gentle.”_

Jon _sobs._

Tim trades an incredulous, amused look with her. Then he reaches out and sets a hand on Jon’s head, running it soothingly through his hair. Martin _bristles_ just at that touch. Sasha rolls her eyes at him, even if she’s still sort of amused. He looks like he thinks they’re going to pick Jon up and run away with him, keep him all to themselves. 

“Good coworkers share resources, Martin,” Tim says, and yes, that sounds right, that _feels_ right. She finds herself nodding along with the sentiment without making the decision to do so. 

Martin frowns, conflicted. “But…” 

“We just want for you to finish fucking him so we can take a turn with him,” she says. “You’ll get him back eventually. And you can watch what he does with us, in the meanwhile! I really liked watching the two of you, while Tim fucked me. It was _very_ good.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t enough entertainment for you?” Tim asks with mock offense. She shrugs innocently. 

“Martin, _please,”_ Jon says brokenly. “Please fuck me.” 

“Okay, _that’s_ impressive,” Tim says, his eyebrows raised. “Well done, Marto!” 

Sasha hums in agreement, and feels _hungry._ She reaches out, and sets an urging hand on the small of Martin’s back. “He asked very nicely,” she points out. 

“It’d be _really_ mean to ignore him now, wouldn’t it?” Tim asks. 

Martin hesitates for a moment. She imagines it, Jon speared and helpless on Martin’s dick for _hours,_ desperate and warm and twitching around him. She slips a hand between her legs, a finger curling up into her slick cunt. Fuck, yeah, she can understand why he wants that so much, as mean as it’d be. But she _does_ want a turn herself. 

“Yes,” he finally says. “Yes, alright, I’ll fuck you.” 

Jon moans in ragged relief, and Martin bends down to press a soft kiss to his shoulder. And then he braces himself with his legs, and he _fucks_ him. This time, his hands on Jon’s hips aren’t to keep him still, but to move him up and down on his dick. He makes it look _effortless._

She’s never really been attracted to Martin before, but you know what? He puts on a _damned_ good show. He snaps his hips up into Jon in a steady, quick, hard rhythm, and Jon makes _noises,_ high and unrestrained, too fucked out of his mind to try and hold them back. She presses herself close to Martin’s side, and watches and appreciates the way Jon’s back trembles and flexes and arches as Martin fucks him, her fingers tucked up into her cunt. 

On the other side of the desk, Tim leans down and takes Jon’s hands that are scrabbling frantically at the desk, and he lets Jon squeeze his hands desperately as he leans down and presses soothing, friendly kisses to his mouth and face as Martin pounds into him. She sees Martin bare his teeth at that, pounding into Jon even _harder,_ and she tries not to laugh at it. 

“You’re doing great, boss,” Tim says warmly. 

“F-- fuck, fuck, _fuck,”_ Jon chants, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“He’s real big, huh? You can do it, champ.” 

_“Tim,”_ Jon grounds out between thrusts. He still clutches onto Tim’s hands, though. 

Martin keeps fucking Jon, hard and steady, and Jon quickly loses his last bit of coherency, reduced to gasps and moans with the occasional breathless swear or fractured name. He sounds _really_ nice, honestly, his deep even voice turned broken and desperate and used only for filthy, needy noises. She itches to record it, but she doesn’t want to leave all of their sides for even a moment, to miss a single thing. 

She keeps touching herself, biting her lip to try and be quiet so she can keep listening to the delicious noises that keep getting dragged out of Jon. Tim leans in close to Jon and murmurs something that sounds vaguely friendly and supportive into his ear as he pants and moans, looking into his face as Martin fucks him within an inch of his life. It must be a fantastic view. 

Eventually, Martin comes. It’s obvious by the way he sort of crumples around Jon’s frame for a moment, bowing over his back, his face twisted up with overwhelmed pleasure-anguish, his eyes squeezed shut so tight that tears of effort bead at the corners of his eyes. He makes a punched out sort of noise, and she rubs his back soothingly as he just stands there and trembles for a long moment, holding Jon still and helpless underneath him. 

“Great show,” she says. 

_“Definitely,”_ Tim agrees emphatically. “You absolutely win the prize for railing Jon, Martin. And Jon, you get the prize for being railed.” 

Jon slumps face down on the desk, going as limp as an exhausted ragdoll. Martin had really put him through his paces, hadn’t he? Speaking of which-- 

“You can pull out of him now,” she tells him. 

“I-- one moment longer,” he says, and his voice sort of reminds her of the way she’d say ‘five more minutes’ whenever one of her parents tried to wake her up in the morning. Like Jon’s a warm, comfortable bed that he doesn’t ever want to get out of. 

“Oh, come on,” she says. “You must be going soft by now. Isn’t your dick all sensitive?” 

Something stubborn flashes across his face. “No, I’m good. He feels good.” 

“What about Jon, huh?” Tim jumps in. “Poor guy must need a break from being all filled up.” 

“I’m right _here,”_ Jon says, his voice sounding a bit ragged from all of the desperation from earlier, not lifting his head from the desk. 

“Oh, well excuse me for assuming you’d gone comatose,” Tim says, but with a bit of a grin. He turns his attention back on Martin. “This is just you not wanting to share, isn’t it?” 

“I-- _no,”_ he says defensively. 

“Yes it is,” Sasha says. He turns a betrayed, hunted look on her. 

_“Listen,”_ Tim says. “I get it. Obviously, Jon’s arse must be amazing. I don’t doubt you. But sharing can be fun! _Trust_ me. Come on, let me show you.” 

“I--” Martin says, looking a bit like a kid who’s being pressured to surrender his favorite toy to the rest of the class or something. 

“Martin,” Jon says. He braces himself on shaking arms, and looks over his shoulder at him. His eyes are blown out dark, and it makes a needy sort of heat jolt through her stomach. “It’s fine.” 

“... Okay,” he says, and he almost sounds heartbroken for a moment, rejected. But he pulls out without hesitation or complaint after that, so she must’ve imagined it. Martin pulls out of Jon carefully, like he’s something fragile, and the moment he lets go of Jon’s hips he collapses even further onto the desk, in a way that makes her suspect that Jon would’ve just slid all the way to the floor if it weren’t for the way Tim’s still holding his hands. 

Martin starts taking off his condom, and Tim catches her eyes across the desk. He gestures a bit with his gaze along with some nods of his head, and she catches his drift. _You take care of Jon, I’ll take care of Martin._

She is _so_ fine with that agenda. 

She leans past Martin and then gets her hands underneath Jon’s arms. 

“Think you can stand up without collapsing?” she asks him, a challenge. 

“I’ve been fucked, not _beaten,”_ he huffs indignantly. She helps heave him up to his feet, Martin taking a few steps back to get out of the way, and his knees promptly buckle underneath him. He doesn’t fall, since she was already ready to catch him. 

“What were you saying?” she says innocently, supporting most of his weight. 

He casts a mortified look at her, reminding her of a cat that rather wishes everyone would just go ahead and forget that little stumble it just suffered. She grins at him. 

“Oh god, Jon, I’m so sorry,” Martin says, sounding as horrified and flustered as he did the last time he walked into Jon while holding three mugs of tea. “Was I too rough? I should’ve--” 

“Damn, Martin,” Tim cheerfully interrupts the rush of apologies. “I’ve _heard_ about fucking someone so hard that they can’t walk the next day, but that’s, like, a saying!” 

Martin makes a high pitched, embarrassed whining sort of noise, a touch reminiscent of a teakettle. 

“I can _walk,_ I just stood up too quickly,” Jon says defensively. “And you were _not_ too rough, Martin. If anything, you were far too-- too indulgent.” 

It’s hard to tell with his brown skin, but she’s _pretty_ sure that-- yep, he’s gone ahead and embarrassed himself. She trades a grin with Tim and tries not to actively cackle. 

“Too indulgent?” Martin repeats, wide eyed. 

“--not that that’s a _bad_ thing, necessarily,” Jon hurries to add. 

“Ooh, so you liked it?” Tim asks mercilessly. 

“I-- that’s not what I said--”

“He liked it! That means he liked it. Good job, Martin.” 

Martin’s gone about as red as a tomato by now. It’s a pretty fun sight, but not all that rare. She tugs at Jon, urging him to follow her. 

“Come on, I think we can create some decent padding using our clothes, so we can lie on the floor for a bit,” she tells him. “I mean, desk sex is fun and all, but I want you on your back for this.” 

“Ah, right,” he says awkwardly at the sudden shift in conversation. “What did you have in mind?” 

Martin makes a small cut off noise of protestation, an aborted movement of his hand like he wanted to reach out to Jon, but then thought better of it. Tim dives into his side immediately, handsome and smiling. 

“I’m hurt Martin, I really am,” he says. “Jon can be fun, but what about me? You don’t want to show me even a _little_ bit of attention?” 

“I-- I thought you’d rather be with Sasha?” he says, his voice curling up into an uncertain question towards the end. 

“Sasha’s grand, but I’m a man of varied tastes!” He pushes gently but firmly at Martin’s chest so that he takes a few steps backwards, until Tim’s bracketing him against a desk. He leans in close, brushing his lips against Martin’s, going from loud and playful and boisterous to something more… sensual. Martin makes a small squeaking noise into the kiss, and then eagerly presses into it, deepening it. Tim makes a pleased noise into the kiss, throwing his arms around him. 

She spends a good few moments just _watching_ that, watching them, until she remembers herself. God, Tim’s a beautiful kisser, but she’s let herself get distracted. At least Jon seems equally affected, outright staring at Martin and Tim with wide eyes like he wants to swallow every single detail, his lips slightly parted. She tugs at him, and he startles a bit. 

“Come on,” she says, and she pulls him down to kneel with her on the floor. She reaches out and picks up their clothes, and creates something a bit like a makeshift mattress on the floor. None of Jon’s skin should be touching the floor anyways, and she rolls up Martin’s thick jumper as a pillow for his head. 

“Too bad we don’t have a bed in the office,” she comments. 

“Well-- nevermind,” Jon says, looking away. 

She narrows her eyes at that, but decides to let it go. She’d much rather get to the action. Watching Martin plow Jon, Tim devouring Martin’s mouth-- yeah, she’s _ready_ for round two. 

“Lie down,” she says, patting the indicated spot on the floor. “I’m going to sit on your face, and you’ll eat me out,” she informs him matter of factly. 

“Oh,” he says. He _does_ move to go and lie down, so she supposes that that's an agreement with her decided course of action. Good. 

She’s imagined this before, to be honest. Maybe not quite like this, with Tim drawing breathy noises out of Martin a few feet away, but she’s thought about having Jon’s mouth on her. She thought about it a _lot,_ after he got promoted. She’s thought about sitting on his desk, on Gertrude’s desk, on what she’d hoped (thought) would be _her_ desk, and pulling her skirt up to her hips, the fabric bunching up, and spreading her legs and dragging Jon in by a grip on his hair, on keeping him there until she’s _satisfied,_ until he’s done his job and she tells him that he can come up for air. She’s thought about making him kneel there, between her legs, for as long as she wants and _savoring_ it. 

It’s a dumb fantasy. Jon didn’t steal anything from her, he doesn’t _owe_ her anything. It just… makes her feel better about losing, to think about it. She _hates_ losing. 

In reality, of course she isn’t going to make him kneel for it. Martin fucked him all weak kneed, and she plans to use him for long enough that he’d probably end up collapsing before she got finished. 

She watches him lie down, and then she promptly swings a leg over his head so that she’s kneeling over his face once he’s in place. 

“You’ve done this before?” she asks him. 

“I-- my last girlfriend, she had different… I’m more used to sucking than eating out.” She can feel his hot breath ghost over her wet cunt as he speaks, and she bites her lower lip so she won’t giggle or make any strange noises. 

“Well, that’s fine,” she tells him once she’s composed herself, and her voice is lower now, darker. “I’ll teach you how to do it right.” 

An unexpected thrill goes up her spine at that. She’ll _deign_ to teach him how to eat her out properly. She hadn’t thought to consider _that_ fun angle before. She’s going to have to revisit those fantasies later. 

Except she won’t. This is _actually_ going to happen, so what do fantasies matter? Gleefully, she sinks downwards slowly, letting her knees slide wider and wider across the floor by incremental inches, bringing her closer to Jon’s hot, tingly breath without just outright sitting down. She likes the ache and strain of keeping her weight on her knees, and it’s safer anyways. She lets out a happy little sigh once she finally makes contact, Jon’s mouth meeting her cunt in something almost like a kiss. 

“You can hold onto my thighs,” she says, and _yes,_ the whole… teacher-mentor-more experienced one thing _is_ working for her, she _likes_ this. “Help me keep my balance.” 

Jon’s hands move obediently to her thighs almost immediately. She has to bite her fist at that, of all things. Yeah, turns out that she _really_ likes this. 

“Lick,” she says, and she sounds almost throaty now. When Jon does as she asks-- as she orders-- she can’t help but let loose a sweet little moan at that, her hips grinding down a little to chase the pressure of his tongue. “Again.” 

He listens to her. He does as she says, and he keeps doing as she says. 

“You’re so good at doing as you’re told,” she tells him, because he is. He takes directions wonderfully. That’s rarer than you’d think. Precious. “I should just tell you what to do all of the time, shouldn’t I? I should be in charge of you. _I_ should be in charge. Would you like that?” 

Jon makes a muffled noise into her cunt, something like a moan, which she’ll happily take as agreement. 

“I’d like that,” she tells him lowly, sincerely. “I’d like it a lot.” And then, for some reason she adds, “I was so jealous of you when you got the promotion, did you know that?” 

His grip on her thighs tightens. With discomfort? She can’t see his face right now, he can’t talk. Does that make this easier or harder? 

Well, it’s not like they need to have a conversation about this. Not much of anything has to be said, because… 

“Don’t worry,” she tells him. “I know it’s not your fault. I know. I just wanted for you to know that. That I’m jealous, and it’s not your fault. Okay?” 

One of Jon’s hands leaves her hip, and he fumbles with it, reaching blindly for-- 

Oh. Sasha reaches out and catches his hand. His fingers squeeze hers, firm and reassuring, and that’s-- 

God, she’d somehow forgotten how much she just _likes_ Jon, sometimes. He can be so sweet, out of nowhere, with no warning. It takes her off guard each time. It doesn’t happen that often, but it’s been much rarer lately. Ever since the promotion. 

“No hard feelings, then,” she says softly, and pulls his hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. 

And then she makes him keep eating her out until she’ll gush all over his lower face. He does as she tells him to, of course. 

“Hey,” Tim says, and takes hold of Martin’s chin, pulling him back into another kiss. Martin makes a muffled, apologetic noise, and sinks back into the kiss. For a moment. 

And then Sasha moans again, the tail end of it turning into a delighted laugh, and he breaks the kiss off again in a way like he almost doesn’t realize that he’s doing it, distracted, turning to look at Jon and Sasha instead. It’s not a hungry, appreciative sort of looking, which is a damned shame, because those two look _incredible_ together. It sounds like Jon’s getting better and better by the moment, getting the hang of it, because Sasha’s back keeps arching more and more sharply, her head tipping back as she makes pleased noises, each one louder than the last. 

“Martin,” he says again. 

“What? Oh-- damn it, sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, and turns back to Tim, kissing him. 

This time it’s Tim who breaks the kiss. “You apologize a _lot,_ mate.” 

“Sorry,” Martin says reflexively, and then winces a bit. 

Tim snorts at him. “You know, it’s not like he’s _going_ anywhere. You’ll get him back in a bit.” 

Martin shifts uncomfortably. “I know that, just…” 

“What?” he pokes at him curiously. “You think Sasha’s gonna rock his world so hard that he’ll be ruined for you forever?” 

Martin goes a bit stiff at that. 

“What, _really?”_ Tim demands incredulously. 

“It’s just-- what if he has more fun with her than me? And he doesn’t want to waste time going again with me? Like, what if that was my _shot_ and I didn’t do it well enough?” 

“I _knew_ you had a thing for him,” he says triumphantly. 

Martin flushes. “Just a-- just a _bit_ of a thing!” 

“Right, just an eensie weensie tiny little thing.” 

Sasha gasps out Jon’s name. Martin’s head whips in their direction. Tim ever so patiently takes hold of his head and turns him back towards Tim. Martin grimaces at him sheepishly. 

“Even if Jon isn’t interested in having a second round with you, it’s not like we’re going to _ignore_ you. Is that what you’re scared of? Being relegated to sitting on a chair and watching while the rest of us all have fun together?” 

Martin squirms uncomfortably at that, his gaze skittering away from Tim’s. 

_“Really?”_ he says. “Come on, we wouldn’t do _that_ to you.” 

“You don’t have to include me just because you feel like you have to,” Martin almost mumbles, still avoiding eye contact. “If the three of you just want to have fun together then that’s fine.” 

“Oh my god, Martin. Martin! That would be _so_ mean. And hey, why _wouldn’t_ we want to include you? You fucked Jon like a champ, it was beautiful to witness. Maybe that’ll finally help him unwind a bit. And _you’re_ the one who doesn’t seem all that invested right now. It’s almost enough to make a man feel insecure. Am I bad at kissing, Martin? Is that it? Tell it to me straight, I can take it.” 

That finally gets a smile to crack across his face. Tim beams, a feeling of accomplishment washing over him. Martin being sad is just honestly not on, he looks like a kicked puppy. 

“You’re a good kisser, Tim,” he says dutifully. 

“Just good?” he wheedles. 

Martin rolls his eyes, but a smile clings to his lips. “A _great_ kisser.” 

“And my hair’s fantastic,” he prompts him. “And I’ve got the ass of a Greek god-- come on, say it with me--” 

“Oh, shut it,” Martin says, but it’s in a pretty warm, fond sort of way, if Tim’s any judge. The sort of tone where you could tack on _you lovable rascal_ to the end of the sentence and it’d still fit. 

Tim doesn’t really know how to convince Martin that they all want to keep doing this team exercise with him fully involved, that Jon is probably going to be perfectly alright with letting Martin have a second go at him. Or, that is, he _does_ know. Martin’s going to be convinced when they keep including him throughout the whole thing, when Jon lets him put his hands and his mouth on him again. He’ll be convinced when he sees it happen. But that hardly helps Tim _now._ He doesn’t know what to say or do to make Martin stop expecting to be forgotten and excluded from the whole thing, to make him relax enough to be willing to let someone else play with Jon for a bit without wanting to watch it like a hawk. 

Well. There is _one_ way. Tim could help him stop thinking at all. That should do the trick, at least for a while. And he’s been told that he’s very, very good at making people stop thinking so much. 

Without much preamble, Tim leans in and wraps his hand around both his and Martin’s cocks. 

“Oh!” Martin says, eyes going a bit wide with surprise. 

“Good?” Tim asks, giving their cocks one long slide of a tug. They both wore condoms while fucking Sasha and Jon, so there’s no lube or slick left clinging onto their dicks, but he finds that their cocks are plenty slick enough thanks to the precome drooling from the heads of their dicks. They’ve both been ready to come for a second time for a while now, it looks like. 

“Y--yeah,” Martin says, his voice shaky, not with nerves, Tim thinks, but just overwhelmed with how good it must feel to have someone’s hand wrapped around his hard, neglected cock. 

“Cool,” he says, and leans in for another kiss. It’s hot and open mouthed, and not even a little bit distracted this time. He hums approvingly at that, and he keeps sliding his hand up and down their shafts. He squeezes a little, and Martin’s hips jolts up into Tim’s grip, sudden and needy. He sets his free hand on the nape of Martin’s neck and pulls him in deeper at that, wanting to show how much he likes that without actually having to come up for air to _say_ it. He thinks Martin gets the message, from the way his hips start twitching up into the movements of Tim’s hand after that. Good. He very much appreciates some _enthusiasm_ from his partners. Nothing to be embarrassed about. 

Martin’s very _vocal,_ even muffled by Tim’s lips. He likes that. He generally always is, squeaking or gasping or swearing whenever Tim manages to accidentally (or on purpose) startle him, but there’s a sort of breathless quality to all of his noises now that makes Tim’s blood run hot and wanting. He keeps stroking them off, intent on swallowing down every helpless moan that slips out of Martin’s mouth along the way to the peak, and then Martin pleasantly surprises him by wrapping his hand around Tim’s. He follows Tim’s lead easily, and they stroke themselves off together at the rhythm he sets. He goes faster and rougher the higher and louder Sasha’s voice goes, like he’s matching an instrument to her performance. He feels like a fucking maestro. 

Martin doesn’t look towards Sasha and Jon once, which is an accomplishment that Tim feels _very_ proud of. Martin comes across their hands with a sharp inhale followed by hissed swearing, and Tim makes encouraging noises and sucks a few lovebites at his neck as Martin holds onto him and tries to catch his breath. 

_“Great_ job,” Tim says. 

“Fuck,” Martin breathes, blinking away tears beading at the corners of his eyes. Tim’s flattered, he really is. Martin takes a deep breath, visibly scraping his brain cells back together to form coherent thoughts. He looks down between their bodies, and frowns with determination. “Let me suck you off.” 

_“Very_ sweet of you to offer. I’ll definitely have to take you up on that some time,” he says sincerely. Martin’s mouth had been fun just to kiss, it has to feel _amazing_ stretched out around his cock. “Raincheck.” 

Martin stops, a look of anxiety flashing across his face for a moment. “You don’t want for me to _give you a blowjob?”_

“No, I definitely do! Do _not_ get me wrong, I love those, and I’m sure you’re great at them,” he hurries to assure him. Martin doesn’t look mollified, like he thinks Tim’s just making excuses because, what, Tim doesn’t like him enough to accept a blowjob for him? Right after he jacked them both off in his hand and made out with him for a solid… however many minutes? He goes on, trying to wipe that half crestfallen look off Martin’s face. “But you know how you’re not supposed to sprint as fast as you can at the start of a marathon, because then you’ll be too exhausted to get even halfway through? It’s a long distance thing, you have to be patient and pace yourself, just do a sustainable jog and outlast everyone. It’s like that!” 

“You’re… pacing yourself,” Martin says slowly. 

“Well, yeah! I want to do a lot of stuff with all of you guys, and it’d be shame if, like, my dick fell off before I even got to put it in Jon just because I decided to try and break my record for most orgasms had in one afternoon in the first couple of hours.” 

Martin’s eyelid twitches a bit at the mention of putting his dick in Jon, which is sort of _hilarious,_ actually. He’d never have pegged Martin for the jealous type before, which really just goes to show how you can’t judge a book by its cover, apparently. 

He brings the back of his hand up to his face and licks a slow, deliberate stripe up it to clean off the come there, not breaking eye contact with Martin as he does it. Martin’s eyes go a bit glazed at that, his gaze gluing itself to Tim’s hand, his lips. His train of thought thoroughly derailed once again. Success. Tim licks his lips like it's _delicious,_ and Martin makes a small, punctured wanting noise like he’s dying. 

God, Tim really does want to bury his cock into something warm and slick and yielding, though. He’s _aching_ for it. 

_“Fuck,”_ he hears Sasha swear in a way that he’d gone out of his way to etch into his memory even though he’d been so soft and hazy with alcohol and orgasm that he’d barely been holding onto consciousness at the time. He lets himself look. It’s not a jealous, insecure sort of looking, after all, and he’s already given Martin proper attention, he’s gotten his for now. He can appreciate the view for a bit. 

What a fucking view it is, too. Sasha’s got both of her hands buried in Jon’s hair, curled into tight fists close to his scalp like she desperately needs something to hold onto, like she has to make sure that he doesn’t move away for a single second, as if he even could. She’s grinding down on his face in slow rolls of her hips, and she’s panting, making desperate noises in time with the motion of her hips. Her eyes squeezed shut, hair in her face, sweat glistening on her skin, lipstick smeared, the muscles in her legs visibly _trembling_ with strain as she holds herself up. 

She looks like a god, he wants to tell her. And Jon, his eyes closed in something halfway between bliss and concentration, he looks like he’s worshipping her. They should be a marble statue in a museum, the way they are in this exact moment. 

“Nice,” is what he says, instead of any of that. He’s not the flowery type of guy, even if Jon and Sasha are making him think some damned flowery thoughts right now. 

Belatedly, he thinks to glance over at Martin. He looks… longing, mostly, Tim thinks. Like he so very badly wants to reach out and touch, and knows that he can’t. 

Which is ridiculous, obviously. 

“C’mon,” he says, grabbing Martin’s wrist. 

“What-- Tim, we shouldn’t interrupt them!” Martin says, sounding almost alarmed as Tim pulls him towards Jon and Sasha. Like they’re doing something _wrong._

“Not gonna interrupt,” he says simply. “Just appreciate.” 

He flashes back to the earlier thought about how Jon and Sasha should be a piece of art in a museum. One of those incredibly horny statues that get to just sit out there in the open like it’s a respectable Mona Lisa, as if a raunchy art piece has a set expiration date for when it has enough historical value accrued that everyone can just nod to each other and wordlessly agree that of course this isn’t ridiculously sexy, it’s _old,_ it’s _art._ It’s intellectual. 

In those museums, there’s usually a sign that says ‘look, don’t touch’, or something to that effect. But despite everything, they’re not a statue, they’re not art. They’re people, they’re his friends, and they’re naked and beautiful and right in front of him. Why _not_ touch? 

“Hey,” he says, far more tenderly than he’d intended, but he doesn’t mind. He kneels down next to them, and he places a hand on the small of Sasha’s back. Sasha opens her eyes and turns slightly to look at him. Her eyes are so dark, glazed and heated, her expression looking almost lost with sheer need. “You guys look amazing together, I just thought you should know.” 

“I al--already knew,” she says, shooting for matter of fact confidence and missing slightly. Tim suspects it has far more to do with Jon’s mouth than Sasha not thinking that she looks amazing right now. 

“What can I say, I like stating the obvious.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to her jaw. She leans into it, which makes something hot and thrilled run through him. 

And then he remembers his promise to _not_ forget Martin and accidentally leave him out of things. It’s not that Martin’s forgettable, exactly-- it’s that he makes it easy to forget him. He stays quiet, he hangs back. Well, that won’t do at all. Everyone should be having fun right now. It’s a _team_ exercise, after all. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at him where he’s standing a few steps away, looking hesitant to get closer, to get involved. 

“Martin,” he says, and holds an arm out like he’s waiting for Martin to snuggle in close. 

Martin startles, as if he wasn’t expecting to be addressed. But to his credit, he doesn’t leave Tim hanging. That’d be _rude,_ after all. He gets down on the floor next to Tim, who happily tosses an arm over his shoulder. They’re all close together now, no one wistfully gazing at each other. This is great, they should’ve done this from the start. He pecks Martin’s on the cheek, and then leans back in to give Sasha some attention. 

She’s teetering on the edge, he can tell. All she needs is a last firm push to help her get over it, and he’s more than happy to be the one who does it. He sets his teeth on her shoulder and _bites._

Sasha _screams,_ her entire body curling inwards around Jon’s head as he continues to eat her out, his focus on her unceasing, unwavering. Tim admires and appreciates his enthusiasm. 

“Beautiful,” he tells her, tells him, tells them. He rubs a hand soothingly up and down Sasha’s back as she shakes and comes apart, and he hears Martin’s breath close to his ear as he stays nestled close to his side, presumably watching the show as raptly as he is. “Aren’t they beautiful?” he asks him. 

“Yeah,” Martin says after a beat, like it took him a moment to realize that Tim was speaking to him. Tim peeks at him from the corner of his eye. He’s still looking at Jon and Sasha, his face red, his eyes wide. He doesn’t look jealous or sad, Tim thinks? Maybe just flustered, overwhelmed. It’s a definite improvement. 

Sasha groans, and says, “Jon, stop.” 

He’d been eating her out through her entire orgasm, Tim realizes. No wonder it had stretched out for so long. 

Jon’s hands instantly fall away from Sasha’s hips, going to the floor limp and empty, like a man holding his hands up to a cop. Sasha breathes heavily, and levers herself up on her knees, wobbly and exhausted. Tim takes her shoulders and helps her collapse onto his lap instead of toppling onto the floor. 

“Need a break?” he asks her. 

“Just… just a bit,” she says, blinking slow and heavy, her hair plastered to her face with sweat. She looks completely fucked out. He squeezes his arms around her, like she’s the most precious thing on earth, and presses a kiss to the closest part of her that he can reach. He’d like to give Jon a goddamned prize for his _very_ excellent work. “Just a moment.” 

“Okay,” he says. “No rush at all. You can just watch while I fuck Jon for a while, how about that?” 

“Mmn,” she says, her eyes closing for a moment like she’s picturing it, smiling. “That sounds nice.” 

“Cool,” he says, and looks over to Jon. Martin’s pulled him up from the floor, and is kissing him like he never wants to stop. He’s kissing Sasha’s slick away from his chin and lips, he realizes, and has to laugh a bit at that. He’d gone for Jon the _instant_ he was available. It’s kinda cute. 

Now that he thinks about it, Martin probably wouldn’t be cool with Tim taking a turn with Jon right after he finally got him back from Sasha. Tim can only ask for so much patience from him. The poor thing might _cry_ or something. But Martin takes so _long_ with Jon, and Tim’s cock really, really needs someone to fuck into right now, and Sasha really does look like she needs a bit of a break. 

A perfect solution occurs to him. He helps Sasha arrange herself in a comfortable position in the nearest office chair, one that’s going to let have a good view, and then he walks over to Jon and Martin. Martin’s graduated from kissing Jon’s mouth to peppering sweet little kisses to everywhere else, including his _eyelids._ It’s almost enough to give him a cavity just from watching. Jon seems to really like it, though, leaning into each kiss, which is cool. Tim _knew_ he had an inner sap. 

“Hey, Jon,” he says. “Think you need to be worked open again for another fucking, or are you still loose from when Martin had a go at you?” 

Jon stops to frown and consider it as Martin’s assault of many kisses freezes. 

“I believe I don’t need any extra attention,” he concludes. “Martin was very, er, _thorough.”_

That’s the first time Tim’s ever heard him praise Martin’s work ethic, he thinks. That’s great! It means the exercise is working. 

Martin doesn’t seem to notice the improvement, though. Instead, he’s wrapped his arms around Jon and pulled him up into his lap and against his chest, like a jealously guarded treasure, looking at Tim warily past Jon’s shoulder. Like Tim’s just gonna snatch him out of his hands or something. Off to the side, he hears Sasha muffle a snicker. 

“Everyone’s had a turn with Jon except for me,” he points out very reasonably. “It’s only fair.” 

“You don’t need him _right now,”_ Martin says, still clutching at Jon, who looks utterly bewildered. 

“Your dick isn’t even hard again yet,” he says. 

A look of realization crosses Martin’s face, and he gives an indignant gasp, drawing himself up. “You did that on _purpose,”_ he says in the tones of a man realizing a machiavellian plot against him just too late. “So that you’d be ready for a round with Jon and I wouldn’t be.” 

“Wow,” he says. “Martin, I’m really not that cunning when someone’s got a hand on my dick--” 

“Are-- are you two _fighting_ over me?” Jon says incredulously. 

“No!” Martin says. 

“Just a little bit,” Tim says. 

_“Why?”_

_Because no one ever taught Martin that sharing is caring, apparently,_ he doesn’t say. Bit too accusatory, that. He wants to keep the mood light. This really doesn’t have to be a big deal. 

“Boss, you’re _way_ more of a catch than you seem to think,” he assures him. “Like, a solid ten. Very good stuff. Would love to get to try you out at least once. If Martin would just give me his blessing…” 

Martin stiffens as the conversation is pointed back at him. 

“You don’t need _Martin’s_ blessing,” Jon says indignantly. Martin’s shoulder hunch guiltily at that. 

“True,” Tim agrees. “But it’s a lot more fun if everyone’s on the same page, trust me.” 

“I--” Martin says, and Jon puts a hand on his chest and pushes back to get enough space to look at his face instead of being pressed up against his chest and neck. Martin hurriedly avoids eye contact, looking even more uncomfortable. “Yeah,” he says in a small voice, almost a mumble. “‘Course. Do whatever you want.” 

Aw, he looks so sad. It’s okay, Tim’s going to fix it in a moment. He just wanted to see if Martin would share Jon even without Tim’s brilliant solution. He’s very proud of him. 

Tim holds out his arms for Jon to fall into, and Jon gets out of Martin’s lap with a worried frown that he casts back at Martin as he goes. Martin for his part doesn’t do anything to stop him, reluctantly opening up his arms and letting him go. 

Jon really does fit well in his arms. He’s never specifically appreciated before what a fuckable size he is. He could just bounce him on his dick all day if he wanted to, hold him up against a wall or something. 

“Hey, boss,” he says, and gives him a friendly kiss on the lips. 

_“Mmph,”_ Jon says into the kiss, which Tim is just going to go ahead and assume is positive. He lingers in the kiss for a long moment, enjoying himself and making sure that by the time he draws back, Jon is breathless and his lips are well kissed. It’s a very good look on him. 

“Get on your knees?” he asks. As much as he’d like to just put Jon in his lap and spear him on his cock and watch him squirm on it, he has a plan. 

“Oh-- certainly, yes,” he says, and turns around and gets on his hands and knees on the floor. 

It’s only then that Tim realizes that there’s a problem. 

“Er,” he says, “I… think I’m out of condoms.” 

“What?” Sasha says. “We’ve barely done _anything.”_

“Well, excuse me if I wasn’t prepared for a foursome today! How many dicks do you think I have?” 

“It’s fine,” Jon says impatiently, twisting to look at Tim over his shoulder. “Just fuck me without one.” 

_That_ makes a hot bolt of want shoot through him. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly dry mouthed. 

“It’s not as if there’s a risk of my becoming pregnant,” he says dismissively. “And I definitely don’t have something. Do you?” 

“No, I got myself tested only a couple of weeks ago.” 

“Then what, exactly, is the problem?” 

There’s a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that he shouldn’t-- but why not? Jon’s exactly right. What is the problem? And god, the idea of coming inside of Jon-- it’s unexpectedly _blisteringly_ hot. He hadn’t even known that he was into that, but here he is. Anyways, he really does have to fuck Jon. The team exercise, and all that. 

“Good point,” he says, and feeds his dick into Jon’s hole. He was right, it’s still slick from when Martin had plowed him earlier, and Jon doesn’t make any pained noises as Tim slowly but steadily pushes into him until he’s sheathed in him to the root of his cock. Tim tips his head back and groans in appreciation at the tight, hot clench of him around his dick. “Fuck, no wonder Martin didn’t want to share,” he hisses, and gives a slight, shallow thrust. “You’re _tight,_ Jon.” 

“If-- if you say so,” Jon says, strain in his voice. Tim definitely hadn’t been as maddeningly slow and gentle as Martin had been with him, even if he isn’t being rough. 

Tim looks up away from Jon’s back, his bowed head, and towards Martin. He has his hands curled into fists at his thighs, as if to stop himself from reaching out and touching, and his expression is carefully neutral. Tim makes sure to catch his eye, and grins and winks at him. “Wanna suck Martin’s dick, boss? I mean, while you’re already down there and all.” 

Martin blinks at him in incomprehension for a moment, and then his eyes go _wide._ Tim’s never seen someone go so red so fast before. 

“Oh!” Sasha says, their peanut gallery. “Oh my god, you’re going to _spitroast Jon._ Genius. I love it.” 

“Why, thank you,” he says modestly. 

“I-- you don’t have to--” Martin stammers. 

“Yes,” Jon says. 

Tim squeezes Jon’s hips with his hands once in secret approval. His plan is _working._

Martin looks absolutely stunned by this turn of events. “We’re out of condoms,” he says. “You’ll have to taste-- is that okay?” 

“I can’t imagine that latex tastes all that good,” Jon says. “It’s fine, Martin, stop hesitating.” 

Tim watches the hesitation visibly drop from Martin’s face as he takes a step towards Jon, _want_ burning in his eyes now. Jon just told him that he wanted to suck his bare cock, after all. How is he supposed to resist that? 

And Tim gets to fuck Jon through it. God, this is gonna be fun. 

“Okay,” Martin says, voice going gravely at the edges with lust. He approaches them and goes to his knees so that Jon’s at eye level with his cock. It’s filling in maybe a bit, but it’s still for the most part soft. Jon’s going to have to suck it hard. 

Tim keeps his hips still, despite how delicious Jon feels around him, despite how much he wants to start snapping his hips in and never stop. He’ll wait until Jon gets his mouth on Martin, until he finds his bearings. Wouldn’t do to startle him at a delicate stage, after all. 

Instead he just rubs his thumb on Jon’s hip in a circle, fond and steadying. He wishes he had a clear view of Jon’s face from this angle. Is he sizing Martin’s cock up with apprehension? He’s _large._ Or perhaps he’s frowning in stubborn determination, the way he sometimes looks at the towering disorganized stacks of statements in the Archives, an overwhelming challenge that he’s ready to throw himself at no matter how outclassed he feels. 

“Take your time,” Martin tells him as he looks down at Jon, his voice going tender at whatever he sees there. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jon says, and then leans forward and promptly swallows down as much of Martin’s cock as he can in one go. It’s not much of it, from what Tim can see, but it’s enough to make Martin choke. 

“He’s very good with his tongue,” Sasha calls out. “Just so you know.” 

“Th-- thanks for the warning,” Martin gets out. His chin lowers so that his hair falls into his eyes and he squeezes them shut, breathing out a quiet, _“Fuck.”_

Jon reaches out with one hand to clutch onto Martin’s hip, the other one steadying himself on the floor. Tim lets him thrust just an inch in and out of Jon, slow and shallow and careful, and his head tips back and he _groans_ at the feeling of him dragging across his cock. Fuck, that’s good, he’s so good. 

“Jon, don’t-- be careful, you don’t have to swallow a-- _all_ of it.” 

Jon seems to be very determinedly trying to swallow the rest of Martin’s cock, going just a little bit deeper with each bob of his head along the length of it. Tim thrusts a touch deeper at the sight of it, and looks up and tries to catch Martin’s eye again. 

“See?” he says. “Sharing isn’t all that bad, is it?” 

_“Tim,”_ Martin says, strangled, apparently too scattered by Jon’s mouth on his cock to come up with a coherent sentence defending himself. 

He fucks up into Jon again, harder, and watches the way it drives Jon deeper onto Martin’s cock as well. 

“We should share more often,” he says, feeling so, so very hot. Feverish, almost. “Tell me how his mouth feels.” 

Between them, Jon makes a muffled, gagging sort of noise as he apparently dives in too deep on Martin’s cock. He retreats a few inches, and Tim can only imagine how tearful with strain his eyes must be, yet still burning fiercely with determination. Tim sets the beginning of a rhythm as Jon tries to find his breath again without actually taking his mouth of Martin’s cock, still not fucking into Jon as enthusiastically as he may want to, but getting there. 

“I, I don’t,” Martin says. 

“Come on, buddy, use your words. Is it nice and warm? Wet?” 

Martin makes a strangled, whining tea kettle noise, and nods vigorously. Jon is starting to meet Tim’s thrusts, pushing his hips back as Tim pushes in. God, he’s so good. And when he has to be putting so much concentration into sucking Martin’s dick, too. He reaches out and strokes a hand up and down Jon’s side, petting him. 

_“Good,”_ he tells him, and then to Martin, “details.” 

“He’s,” he says, and then visibly takes a moment to take a deep breath and scrape all of his brain cells back together in one place. “He’s really good. The, the suction. He’s doing such a good job.” 

Jon makes a sound like that knocked the breath out of him a bit. Martin reaches down and carefully curls a hand into Jon’s hair for a hand hold, not harsh or pulling, just holding. His other hand settles at the nape of his neck, squeezing it fondly. 

“You are,” he says gently, his expression so openly soft as he looks down at where Jon’s just on the verge of gagging on his cock. “Ease up a bit. There really isn’t a hurry.” 

Jon goes an inch deeper on Martin’s cock, his breathing loud and unsteady through his nose. Martin’s fist in Jon’s hair tightens, and starts to slowly pull him back off his cock. “Come on,” he says, much more sternly now. Jon _whines_ at being pulled, at being ordered, but he goes. It makes Tim’s hips snap into Jon _hard_ for a moment before he gets a hold of himself again. 

“Suck on the head of his dick,” Tim suggests. “That feels _amazing._ Blowjobs don’t have to be all about deepthroating, you know. Tongue at the slit at the top, it’s good.” 

Jon makes a muffled noise like he’s trying to respond, as if his mouth isn’t _very_ full at the moment, and Tim laughs a bit at him for it, and fucks into him. Martin’s head falls forward and he _swears._ Presumably, Jon’s taking Tim’s advice. 

“Wrap your hand around the part of his cock that you can’t fit into your mouth,” he goes on. “Sort of like a semi handjob? Helps you cover more ground.” 

“Do you _want_ for me to finish in five minutes?” Martin demands, sounding half anguished, half amazed. 

“Do you want to finish down Jon’s throat, or on his face?” he casually asks him, biting back a teasing grin, and Martin _moans_ as Jon wraps one slim fingered hand around the base of his cock and sucks and licks at the head of it. “I get it if you can’t choose, both sound great. What do you think, Jon? Have any preferences?” 

Jon apparently doesn’t have enough of one to think it worth drawing away from Martin’s dick for just a moment to answer. Tim decides that he’s been given enough time to get used to this. 

“Heads up, I’m about to fuck you properly, Jon,” he says, because giving a warning is only nice. And then he braces himself and puts his _back_ into it. He grips Jon’s hips tight and helps him slam all the way down to the root of his cock each time, so that all Jon has to do is cling onto Martin. It’s fine, he can take it, he took Martin, Martin’s bigger. Fuck, he’s so _tight,_ Tim can’t get over it. 

“So good,” he says fervently like it’s a prayer. And then, tugged loose by something, “I should fuck you like this every day. Is that gonna stop you from being so tense all of the time? Is that what you need? I’ll give it to you. I’ve _missed_ you. You’ve been so-- so-- so _not you._ I like you, I want for you to be you. Is this what you’ve been needing to be yourself again, Jon? I’ll fuck you sweet, I will.” 

It all falls out of him in a breathless rush as he fucks Jon, and Jon whines and keens around the girth of Martin’s cock, and Tim doesn’t stop. 

Jon had been different before he got promoted. It’s not like his personality has been completely transformed, it’s not like he’s a different person. But he’s still different, and it’s for the worse. In a way that makes him seem more frayed, more stressed. _Meaner._ Snapping at Martin all of the time, bristling and defensive. He doesn’t like seeing Jon like this, miserable and making other people miserable too. He’s always been rough around the edges, but-- he _misses_ him. His dumb jokes and his soft laugh and how easy and fun it is to fluster him and… 

“I’ve been worried about you,” he confesses, feeling cracked open as he fucks Jon. He thinks distantly that he hadn’t been planning on actually telling Jon any of this. He’d just been hoping that it’d all fix itself and go back to the way it used to be eventually on its own, if he just kept joking around and keeping the mood up, that Jon would catch on and follow his example. It feels right now, though. Proper communication is important in a harmonious workplace. “We’ve been-- me and Sash, so worried about you.”

Tim fucks Jon, and Jon makes sweet, helpless noises, unable to respond. 

“You don’t need to change, Jon,” he tells him, promises him. “Or whatever it is you think you’re doing. The old you was way better anyways.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut and comes inside of Jon like a surrender. He stays there for a long, stretched out moment, panting for breath, practically trembling with exhaustion. His cock starts to soften, and he pulls it out. Come drips down Jon’s inner thigh slowly, and the sight of it makes something inside of him _tingle_ despite the fact that he just came. He collapses back on his heels and takes deep breaths. Wipes at his face. 

“Fuck,” he says. He feels like he should apologize, somehow, but he’d only told the honest truth. “Thanks. That was-- you’re so good.” 

He looks towards Martin who’s looking at him with wide eyes, and he remembers belatedly that Martin’s only really known Jon since his promotion. That he has zero context for any of the stuff Tim’s been rambling on about. He doesn’t know what Jon’s like when he isn’t winded up like a wire ready to spring, and that’s a damned shame because Jon’s a pretty likeable guy when he isn’t lashing out someone, in Tim’s opinion. That’s why he’d gone out of his way to befriend him, after all. 

He gives him a smile to let him know that everything’s okay, and leans down and presses a kiss to Jon’s spine, feeling weak and shaky, and gets up. “You two-- you two finish up, I’m gonna go rest a bit.” 

Martin looks like he’s going to say something for a moment, but then Jon must do something with his tongue, apparently, because he moans instead, his eyes falling shut. Without Tim there fucking Jon from behind, Martin slowly sinks to rest his weight on his heels, and Jon follows him, crouched there on his knees, bent over to keep sucking his dick. He looks focused, like he wants to do a _perfect_ job of sucking every single coherent thought out of Martin’s head through his cock. Martin grasps and holds onto Jon like he’s desperate for something solid to keep himself anchored, like he’s dangling from somewhere precarious instead of kneeling on the floor. 

They really do look good together. Tim smiles, feeling tired but in a good way, and stumbles over towards Sasha. 

Sasha’s on her phone, of all things. Wait, no-- the way she’s holding the phone up-- 

“Were you filming us?” he asks her quietly, drawing close. He peers over her shoulder, and she doesn’t startle or try to hide the phone away. Yeah, Jon sucking Martin’s dick is clear to see on the screen, being recorded. 

“Yeah,” she says. She’s subtly rubbing her thighs together like she’s craving friction, but both of her hands are on her phone, carefully angling it. Her bottom lip looks bitten red and plump. Kissable. Her eyes are rapt on the screen, the show. “Don’t worry, I’ll send you a copy if you want it.” 

Instead of pointing out that people generally _ask for permission_ before filming someone else, he decides to go for a different tact. 

“You should probably stop,” he says. 

“It’s just for personal use,” she assures him, not looking away. It seems like Jon’s back to trying to swallow as much of Martin’s cock as he can manage, and Martin’s swearing and trying to urge him to slow down, he doesn’t _have_ to. It’s distracting stuff, but he rallies valiantly. 

“If they notice that you’re filming, they’re going to get self conscious,” he murmurs into her ear. “They might _stop.”_

She seems to actually and stop and reconsider, at that. 

“... Alright,” she says, and pauses the recording, putting her phone away. He’ll talk to her about deleting it later. She’s not malicious or anything, she just… does stuff that obviously isn’t okay sometimes, without seemingly even realizing that it isn’t okay. She hadn’t even tried to hide the phone from him, after all. He’s noticed that some stuff that comes intuitively to most don’t, for her. It’s fine. He’ll take care of it. Later. For now, he doesn’t want to bring down the mood. 

It’s not like he can’t understand the impulse, either. Looking at Jon and Martin, he really does wish that he could have some pictures in his phone to admire later, when this is all over. But he’d have to ask first, for that, and he does _not_ want to interrupt them right now. They’re doing excellently. 

He gets down, sitting on the floor by Sasha where she’s sitting in her chair, and he rests his head on her thigh. It’s soft and warm, and after a moment she reaches out and lays a hand on his head. Despite the fantastic view, he can’t help but close his eyes and just bask in it for a moment. He feels like he could nod right off where he is. Just for a bit. 

He won’t, of course. There’s more fun to be had, the exercise isn’t over yet. But he stays where he is for now, and rests. Everything’s going _perfectly,_ so far. 

Jon can feel Martin’s pulse pressed up against his tongue as he sucks his cock, fast and hot. He’s only got a bit over half of him in his mouth and he knows he can take more without gagging, just a bit more, but Martin’s grip in his hair is firm as iron, keeping him from going any deeper. He almost wants to pull off and tell him off, but stopping entirely would be as good as admitting defeat. His jaw aches in a way that’s half painful, half satisfying. Martin keeps stroking his back and shoulders with his other hand and he keeps wanting to push up into the touch like an affectionate cat, encouraging the touch. He closes his eyes and tries to stay focused on his task, what he’s supposed to do. 

“You’re doing such a good job,” Martin tells him, and Jon shivers despite himself. People keep telling him that, and he’s not entirely sure that it’s true. Martin held him down and did all of the work, that first time, and Sasha had to tell him what to do when he was eating her out. Tim let him participate more, moving back onto him, and he _thinks_ he did well, considering the orgasm, but. He still very much wants to prove himself to Martin, that he at least knows what he’s doing when it comes to _this._

Sex has always been a bit-- different, for him. It’s fine, he supposes, but it obviously doesn’t _get_ to him as much as it does everyone else. It’s a good time in the way that cuddling is a good time, something soft and intimate to do with someone that he loves so much that he can be happy just luxuriating in their presence, their touch. It’s bothered some partners in the past, though. Georgie had been the most accepting of it, but even she had confided in him that having sex with someone who didn’t seem to be enjoying it felt strange, and she’d rather just avoid it entirely. He’d been fine with that. As he said, cuddles are just as fine as sex, if not better. They’re certainly less _messy._

But blowjobs? She’d been perfectly fine with him sucking her off now and then. He’d gotten a _lot_ of practice in. He’s good at it, he knows he is. It’s just-- Martin a bit _bigger_ than Georgie had been. More than a bit. 

It’s _fine._ It’s just-- he just needed a bit of an adjustment period, that’s all. He can take it. Martin just needs to _let him._

He tries to push forward again, get more of Martin’s cock in his mouth. All he ends up doing is making tears spring to the corners of his eyes as he pulls on his own scalp. 

“Stop that,” Martin scolds him. “You don’t need to swallow more of it.” 

He sounds firm, the way he had when Jon had come into work while sick once, something that left him feeling fatigued and distracted, trailing off mid sentence and staring glaze eyed at nothing. He’d taken one look at him and turned him right back home, as if he had the authority to make that decision for him. Jon had gone along with it purely due to how startled he was by how stern and unyielding bumbling, incompetent Martin had suddenly become. He’d been half convinced that it had been some sort of fever dream afterwards, but Tim had made a few jokes about it afterwards, so. It had really happened. 

He wonders what the common thread is, what the magical trigger for getting Martin to take on that steely tone of voice is. It seems completely random, so far. 

Jon swallows around Martin’s cock and stops trying to shove himself further, instead just focusing on tonguing at the head of his dick for a while. Martin’s grip gentles, letting him move in _that_ direction, of course. A small, shivery noise slips out of Martin’s mouth as he does, and he’s mollified by that. See, he _can_ do this, he _is_ doing a good job, no need to praise him for just being a hole to fuck. 

“I’m going to let go of your hair,” Martin breathes after a long moment filled with nothing but the sound of his unsteady breathing, Jon persistently sucking on him. “And you’d better not take advantage of that, okay?” 

Or what? He’ll spank him? Jon’s half tempted to take advantage just to see what will happen, just to spite him, but. He knows that you’re generally supposed to listen to people, during sex. It’s a _rule._

Martin lets go of his grip on Jon’s hair to… run his fingers through Jon’s hair, not in restraint, but just to gently scratch his fingers over his scalp. _Oh,_ that-- that’s--

When Jon had said that he got something different out of sex than most people, this is what he’d meant. The intimacy, the tenderness. Had he told Martin that? He can’t remember. It’s just-- it’s so _sweet,_ and he doesn’t know what to do with it. 

He continues sucking Martin off, instead. It’s the best he can do, right now. 

“You three have so much history together,” Martin says softly, wistfully. “I can’t wait until I have that with you too.” 

He can’t _say_ anything. He’s almost grateful for that, because he at least has an excuse for the fact that even if his mouth was free, he has no idea of what to say in the first place. 

He makes a muffled noise instead, and slides more of Martin’s cock into his mouth. Not all of it, not more of it than he’s _allowed,_ but he wraps his hand around the rest of it and strokes it as well as he can as he sucks as hard as he can, bobbing his head. 

_“Fuck,”_ Martin says, like it’s been dragged out of him. “Jon, I’m going to-- _fuck_ I’ll--” 

Martin grabs him by the hair again, harsh and merciless, and he _yanks_ Jon off his cock. He’s fast enough to avoid coming down Jon’s throat, but not fast enough to avoid coming on his face instead. He blinks rapidly, startled, and then the smug satisfaction at making Martin come arrives. And then some of the semen drips slowly down his face, and the disgust overshadows that a bit. 

“Oh my god,” Martin says, sounding both winded and mortified. “I’m _so_ sorry.” 

“I think he looks good,” Sasha comments, and Jon belatedly remembers that oh yes, there are two other people in this room as well. Watching them. And oh that-- that’s an unexpectedly nice thought. Being watched, appreciated. That’s normally not his thing. But… no one in this room is a stranger to him, so maybe that’s it. He knows everyone here. He trusts everyone here, he thinks. He doesn’t know Martin as well as Tim and Sasha, not for as long, but-- he’s starting to think that he might want to. 

Jon swallows down the taste of precome, sitting back up, and he grimaces as he feels Tim’s come-- in a different place. Good lord, he’s a _mess._

“Well, it doesn’t _feel_ good,” he says, and oh, his voice sounds a bit hoarse now. He shifts uncomfortably. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Martin frets. His hands are hovering over Jon’s shoulder, like he wants to touch but is suddenly uncertain of his welcome, as if coming on Jon’s face is an unforgivable crossing of a line. Like that time he’d spilled tea on Jon’s jumper, wanting to fix it and yet wanting to flee at the same time. 

“It’s _fine,”_ he says, and it comes out more sharply than he’d intended. He’s not _mad_ just-- uncomfortable. He must look ridiculous, come on his face, trickling down his thighs. 

“Aw, we’ll fix it, buddy,” Tim says cheerily, and then he and Sasha are approaching, settling down around him and Martin. He leans in towards Jon and murmurs into his ear, not quietly enough to not be heard by the others, “I could eat my come out of you?” 

Martin chokes. Jon doesn’t know how he avoids doing the same thing. That-- no one’s done _that_ to him before. 

“What,” he says. 

Sasha reaches out and shoves Tim lightly on the shoulder. “If you do that, I’m not letting you kiss me again afterwards,” she chides him. 

_That_ brings Tim up short. “Oh,” he says, and gives Jon an apologetic grimace and a shrug. “Sorry, mate.” 

“I--” a look of triumphant realization crosses Martin’s face, “--I have wet wipes! In my desk! Hang on, one moment.” 

And he gets up and bustles off to his desk and Jon sort of wishes that he were still within arms reach. 

Which is ridiculous, of course. Utterly ridiculous. 

“Excellent dick sucking, boss,” Tim says. “Really impressive stuff.” 

Was it? He hadn’t been able to swallow all of Martin, in the end. But Martin had come, so maybe… 

Sasha leans forwards and gives his cheek a kitten lick. He flinches back a bit, purely from surprise, and she grins at him. 

“Just cleaning you up a bit,” she says innocently. 

“That’s…” he says, and he means to say disgusting, but is it? Jon had swallowed more than his fair share of pre-come, while he was sucking Martin’s dick. And he doesn’t _feel_ disgusted, at least not by that. Even if outright licking his face _is_ strange. 

Tim leans in too, with a loud “Mwah!”, kissing some more come off his face like that’s a normal thing to do. It manages to startle a laugh out of him, which makes Sasha giggle, and Tim gleefully leans into it, pressing more loud, obnoxious kisses to Jon’s face. By the time Martin comes back, his heart feels lighter. 

“Here,” he says, holding up the aforementioned wet wipes, and then, “can I…?” 

This feels like something Jon should do himself, an offer he should reject, but why…? He can’t think of why, right in this moment. And then he thinks _each member of an office should be given the chance to pull their own weight in the workload._

“You may,” he says, and he lets Martin clean Tim’s come out of him, wiping his inner thighs and then deeper as well. Sasha plucks a wet wipe of her own while he’s at it and cleans up his face for him, and by the time it’s all over he feels much more comfortable for not being covered in bodily fluids. Besides sweat. There’s a lot of sweat, but he supposes that that’s acceptable for now. 

Tim glances down at Jon’s cock, which is still soft and limp, uninterested. He holds his hand out a bit, like he’s about to reach out for it, and he looks inquiringly at Jon. “You’re the only one here who hasn’t come. Do you want for me to…?” 

Jon shifts away before he even thinks about it, as if Tim’s about to go ahead and grab him without waiting for his permission. 

“That’s-- no, that’s alright,” he says. 

He can get hard, it’s happened before. Often even, when he was a teenager, although he got the impression that it maybe wasn’t as often as his peers even then. A beautiful person, taking off his clothes, getting kissed, fucked, going down on someone-- none of it really does anything for him, not like that. Direct stimulation, however, can get him hard. Sometimes. If he’s perfectly relaxed, not desperately willing for it to happen. It is very, very hard to be perfectly relaxed when someone’s been sucking at his limp cock with increasing impatience for the last ten minutes, waiting for something to happen, their silent frustration almost accusatory. 

He just-- it feels easier almost, if his dick goes ignored. If he doesn’t have to think and worry and fret over it, wondering if he’s disappointing or annoying people with how long he’s taking. He doesn’t want for people to pay attention to it. 

“Alright,” Tim says easily, his hand dropping back to his side. A little pang of grateful relief goes off in his chest, and he lets himself relax. 

“I feel bad, though,” Martin says. “You’ve been so good for us, we should do _something_ for you.” 

“Is there something you like?” Sasha asks. 

“I--” he says, and glances at Sasha. At her shoulder. He flushes and looks away. 

“Ooh, what is it?” she asks, leaning in, interested now. 

“Do you want to play with Sasha’s tits?” Tim asks him, amused. “They’re great tits, I can strongly recommend them.” 

Sasha laughs at that, light and easy. 

“That’s not-- it’s nothing, I don’t need any special treatment.” 

“Jon,” Martin says, and it’s that stern voice again that always managed to stun Jon into surprised compliance. “You sucked me off _while_ Tim fucked you, right after you ate Sasha out for, what, half an hour? And I fucked you too. You _deserve_ something nice.” 

He doesn’t know what to say in response to that, and his gaze falls back to Sasha’s shoulder for a moment before he hurriedly looks away. 

“Oh,” Sasha says in tones of realization. “You’re looking at this?” 

She sets her hand on the bitemark Tim had given her earlier, an imprint of his teeth clamping down on her, just now starting to bruise. 

“Boss!” Tim says, delighted. “You want for us to _bite_ you? Is that it? I would’ve never guessed!” 

“I don’t--” he says, except that’s a lie, he’s guessed it exactly. He squirms uncomfortably, avoiding looking at any of them. “It’s-- the pressure, it’s. It’s nice.” 

That seems somehow inadequate, describing just how much he likes it when someone gets their teeth on him and bite. But saying that he _loves_ being bit-- no, definitely not. 

Even if he does love it. 

“Hey, no judgement here,” Tim says. “We’re all into _something_ kind of weird, right?” 

“Where?” Martin asks, and Jon looks at him. Martin’s eyes are bright, focused, _keen._ It’s a good look on him, he finds himself thinking. “Where do you want for us to bite you?” 

“Anywhere,” he says, feeling abruptly dry mouthed. 

“Right then,” Sasha says matter of factly, and leans in and almost delicately presses her mouth to his throat in an open mouthed kiss. It’s soft and warm, and that’s fine, but then her _teeth_ brush up against the thin skin of his throat and he makes a small, helpless noise like pinned prey and the pressure grows as she tightens her jaw, biting down harder. He reaches out to clutch onto her as the pressure grows and he _keens._

“Is it too hard?” Martin asks, concerned. 

“No,” falls out of him in a rush. “No, no, it’s not too hard, it’s f--fine, perfectly-- ah!” 

Sasha gives the bite mark she’s given him a part lick, and then she moves onto his collarbone. He groans, feeling hot faced and overwhelmed already, just from this. 

“You want for us to leave you with bruises?” Martin asks softly, like he already knows what the answer is. “Cover you up with marks all over?” 

He makes a wordless noise in answer. And then he _yelps._

“What?” Tim asks innocently, after having playfully nipped at his _arse,_ of all places. “You said _everywhere.”_

“Tim,” Martin says, exasperated, even as Sasha muffles a laugh against Jon’s throat. 

“Alright, alright,” Tim says, holding his hands up as he sits back up straight. Jon can feel his breath against the back of his neck, and he finds himself holding his breath in anticipation. “I’ll play nice.” 

He digs his teeth into the nape of Jon’s neck, the way an animal might do to another, and he clamps down _hard,_ bruisingly hard, and the noise that rips out of Jon is raw and ragged. Sasha goes back to nibbling at his throat, and Martin shuffles over to Jon’s side, taking one of his hands. He kisses his wrist tenderly and then, holding Jon’s gaze the entire time, he bites down on it. 

Jon makes some truly humiliating noises. He’s too out of his mind to care about a single one of them. They mark up his throat, his neck, his collarbone, his shoulders, his wrists and his arms and his legs and his thighs and his hips and _everywhere,_ hard and bruising and merciless and he sits there and takes it like a limp, surrendering animal, letting them maneuver his limbs for convenient access, staying the way they position him as they bite and bite and _bite._

They only stop when he starts to cry, at which point Martin fusses and asks him if he’s okay, if they went too far. He shakes his head and tries to wipe the tears away, but more come. 

“I guess it’s your turn for a break now,” Sasha says, stroking a thumb over one of the many bitemarks she’s left on him apologetically, fondly. One of the ones on his inner thigh. His cock had brushed across her cheekbone, but she hadn’t paid it any mind. 

“I don’t,” he says, and doesn’t know what else to say. Nothing’s _wrong,_ just-- it’s so _much._ “I’m.” 

“It’s alright,” Tim tells him, and kisses some of the tears away. It’s such a tender gesture that it feels like it should undo him, but he already feels fairly undone as it is. “You can just watch for a bit and then join back in when you feel up for it, okay?” 

He wants to say _no, I can do it, I can keep going._ And then he remembers the things Tim had said while he’d been fucking him. How he wishes that Jon would go back to the way he’d been. He hadn’t even known that he’d wanted that. He’s not sure how to _do_ it. 

He can take a break though, he thinks. 

“... Alright,” he says, and he doesn’t move away from them all. He’s sore, so sore, and feeling tired and shaky and he just… doesn’t want to move away from them. They’re all so warm and soft and-- he _likes_ them. He doesn’t want to. 

They don’t make a fuss about it either. Instead, Tim wraps an arm over his chest and then leans in to kiss Martin over his head. Behind Tim, he hears Sasha give a breathy sigh, and he wonders if Tim’s fingering her, fondling her, something. 

He can just stay here in the middle while they all keep going, he realizes. That’s… yes, that will do very nicely. He relaxes into their warmth, and watches and listens as they all continue to almost lazily touch each other, grinding and biting and kissing and swearing and laughing softly. They’re all fairly tired by now, having given it their vigorous all for a while now. 

He closes his eyes and simply takes it in, for a long moment. He closes his eyes and just soaks it in for a long, luxurious moment. Their warmth, their closeness, their enjoyment. The sweet ache of the bitemarks. He’s never felt so close to them before, so on the same page. Like they’re all working towards the same goal, together, a team. Not witnesses that he desperately has to avoid messing up in front of, not someone to impress and wrangle. 

_Share,_ something whispers in his head. 

“I’ve been so scared of making a mess of this promotion,” he murmurs quietly, but there’s a lull in the moaning and the shifting right now, everyone just idly stroking and kissing each other at the most, so they all hear him. They stop at the sound of his voice, and he continues, eyes closed, because that’s easier. “I’ve been worried that it’s too much responsibility, too many chances for me to make a mistake. I’ve felt so in over my head… Elias seems to think I can do it, and I don’t want to prove him wrong.” 

“Huh,” Sasha says, her voice strange. 

“That’s why I didn’t check the nameplate of that Leitner before reading it,” he goes on. “I usually always do that, _always,_ but I thought that one of you had placed it there, and I was so afraid and angry that whoever had done it was _implying_ something. That I was doing a terrible job, that I needed intervention, help. So I got flustered and I forgot… to check… the nameplate...” 

He’d been traded around like a teddy bear during the lazy, sprawling grinding and kissing, and he’s currently tucked underneath Martin’s arm, his back pressed up against his chest. Martin’s arm around him goes tight and stiff. Jon opens his eyes. In front of him, Sasha looks absolutely flummoxed, her eyes open wide. 

“... Holy _shit,”_ Tim says. 

“Indeed,” Jon agrees faintly. 

Martin wonders if this is the part where he’s supposed to wake up. 

He doesn’t wake up. Instead, he continues to exist right here, holding onto his naked boss in a pile with his naked coworkers, nakedly. 

There should be an eject button for this sort of thing, he thinks with a very calm, distant rising hysteria. Because really, what is he supposed to do? Stand up, put his clothes on, excuse himself and leave? That would take _minutes._

Instead he just stays right there he is, which _can’t_ be the right move, considering that he’s still holding onto Jon-- god he’s held Jon so _much_ today-- pinned his hips still while he fucked into him, grabbed him by his hair while he was sucking him off-- 

What is he supposed to _do?_ How the hell is he supposed to react? He has no idea. 

“Well, that’s definitely better than being turned inside out, at least,” Sasha says, and then she _laughs,_ as if she’s surprised herself by saying something hilarious. 

_“Sasha,”_ Martin says. Is he scolding her? Is that what he’s decided to do? He just can’t believe that she’s _laughing._

“It is!” she says defensively, visibly trying and failing to stop laughing. She raises a hand to her mouth to try and muffle herself. He’s seen that hand wrap around Tim’s cock. She giggles behind it, her eyes watering. “If-- if you think about it, come on. I’ve read a lot of statements about people reading Leitners, and this is definitely one of the less horrifying ones.” 

“Depends on who you read it with, I suppose,” Tim says, still sounding pretty stunned, but not as upset as he should be. _Should_ he be upset? Martin doesn’t _want_ for him to be upset, so isn’t it good that he isn’t? “I can think of a few people it would be _way_ more awkward to fall into a supernatural orgy with.” 

Martin raises himself up on one elbow, and tries to subtly check on how _Jon’s_ reacting, because he’s being very quiet so far. 

It’s hard to tell. He doesn’t look angry or horrified or devastated, he’s just… blinking a lot. Like he’s still trying to process what’s happened. It’s a lot to take in, Martin has to admit. 

He hasn’t recoiled from Martin in horror or disgust yet, though, which is… deeply reassuring, actually. He might do that later, but for now he hasn’t which-- that’s good, right? Promising? It would be _awful_ if Jon were upset about Martin fucking him. Even if it would be perfectly reasonable, too. 

Martin tentatively settles back into the cuddle pile. He loosens his grip on Jon, so he can move away if he wants to. He doesn’t. Martin’s heart is beating so quickly in his chest. 

“So,” Tim says, and his voice goes more serious. “Be honest. How good in the sack was I?” 

This makes Sasha break out into another peel of laughter, just when she was finally regaining her composure, and Martin can’t help but giggle a bit as well. 

“I mean it!” Tim says. “I need feedback! Validation! Feed a poor man’s ego.” 

“You rocked my world,” Sasha says. 

“Yeah?” Tim says, and he nuzzles closer against her back. “You mean it?” 

“Definitely,” she says firmly. 

“I was really surprised,” Martin joins in. “I thought you were just exaggerating about how good you were, or something.” 

“What!” Tim says. “How dare you?” 

“You do talk yourself up a lot, you have to admit,” Sasha says. 

“I can’t believe this. What have I ever done to deserve to be doubted like this?” 

“It’s just that, you know-- you’re very handsome,” Martin goes on. Sasha nods wisely in agreement. 

Tim narrows his eyes at them. “Normally I’d take that as a compliment, but you didn’t say it like it was one.” 

“After you cross a certain point on the attractiveness scale, proficiency in bed drops dramatically,” Sasha says matter of factly, like it’s a peer reviewed, documented phenomenon. 

“You’re so handsome, you don’t even have to try,” Martin says. “So the fact that you actually _are_ good at sex was-- I wasn’t really expecting it?” 

He’s teasing mostly. Tim makes some _really_ fun exaggerated offended faces. And it feels good to have something to talk about so that they don’t just all lie there in stunned, awkward silence. 

“What, you thought I’d just lie there and look pretty and let you do all of the work?” 

“Pretty much,” Sasha says, grinning unrepentantly. 

“Wow. See, this is why I have to fuck people magnificently. To combat harmful stereotypes like that against the attractive.” 

“Oh, the _attractive._ The most marginalized group of them all,” Sasha says. 

Tim and Sasha laugh at each other, continuing the conversation, but Martin gets distracted by, well, by worrying. Jon still hasn’t said anything. He gives him a bit of a squeeze of his arm, which he almost immediately regrets. God, the way he’d _acted_ during all of that-- it was like he’d wanted to scrawl his name on Jon with a marker and never give him away. It sort of makes him want to be swallowed up by a hole in the ground and never be seen again. He knows he can get a bit _jealous_ sometimes but-- honestly, that was a _lot,_ even for him. 

Jon stirs though, like Martin had managed to knock him out of a stupor or a particularly distracting train of thought. Thinking very, very heavily. He waits for him to push Martin’s arm away, to sit up and get some distance, but he keeps just lying there, cuddling with Martin. 

“... Did everyone mean what they said?” Jon says. 

“What?” Martin asks. 

“I mean,” Jon says, “we _did_ things that we had, ah, previously not intended to do. That is clear. But we-- we said a lot of things as well. Were they… honest? Or were they just things that the Leitner made us say?” 

“I… probably wouldn’t have phrased some things the way I did, but yeah,” Sasha says. “Yes.” 

“Yeah, the book wasn’t making me just make stuff up,” Tim says. “I meant it.” 

“Me too,” Martin almost mumbles into the top of Jon’s head, trying not to think of the embarrassing, needy things he’d rambled on about, that he’s admitting to now. 

“... The same for me,” Jon says. “I said things that-- that I’ve thought about before.” 

“So, we’ve got the Leitner of workplace orgies and heart to hearts, then?” Tim says. “Kind of a weird pull, but okay.” 

“I think we just got _very_ lucky with who we ended up doing this all with,” Sasha says. “Anyone else, I would _not_ have wanted to show so much of myself to. Literally and figuratively.” 

“Aw, Sash, I’m flattered. I feel the same way.” 

“I-- me too,” Martin says. “I’m happy it happened with you guys. I mean, if it had to happen with someone, that is! Then-- unless you guys weren’t--” _happy that it was with me._ He bites his tongue, cutting himself off before he can ramble himself too deep into a corner. 

“I’m… grateful,” Jon says, sounding awkward and stilted, and yet painfully sincere. “That it was with you three, yes. Doing this with _strangers--_ or even just someone I didn’t know as well-- this was for the best, I suppose.” 

_With you three,_ he said. Including Martin. Not _with Tim and Sasha,_ with Martin as the unfortunate tacked on extra. Something warm and tender cracks open in his chest at that, and he has to bite his tongue harder to stop himself from crushing Jon to his chest, or from doing something else unfortunate. Like _kissing_ him. 

“So, no one’s upset? Everyone’s cool?” Tim checks. One after another, they all confirm that yeah, this is _deeply_ weird but… not terrible, actually. God, Martin’s going to be thinking about some of those noises he dragged out of Jon for the rest of his life, he’s pretty sure. “Great. Glad we settled that, then.” 

“I guess we should be getting up, then?” Martin suggests faintly, almost hoping that no one is going to hear him. Jon still hasn’t moved away, like he somehow hasn’t registered yet that Martin’s wrapped around him. If Martin gets up, lets him go, is he ever going to get to hold him like this again? 

_“No,”_ Sasha groans, turning her face into the coat she’s lying on. They’re lying on their bundled up clothes on the floor, which isn’t exactly comfortable, except for how Martin never wants to move from this exact spot. “I’m _sore._ We can stay for a little longer.” 

“Yes,” Jon says. “I-- that sounds perfectly reasonable to me. We can rest for a bit before we… yes.” 

“Oh, good,” Tim says, and closes his eyes and sags, pressed up against Sasha. 

Martin almost can’t bring himself to believe it, that everyone else seems as reluctant as him to part. He lies there, and he keeps his eyes open to take it all in, soaking in Jon’s warmth, in the weight of him in his arms, the smell of him, the sound of his breathing. Tim and Sasha’s breathing as well, and his own. All going in and out in tandem, he realizes, matching up to each other. That makes him feel… definitely makes him feel something. 

And then ever so carefully, Jon reaches out by a few inches and takes Martin’s hand in his own, where his arm is draped over his chest. He takes it, and he squeezes it ever so slightly. 

“Me too,” he says quietly, as if continuing a different conversation from the one they just had. “I can’t wait until we have history too.” 

Martin closes his eyes.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [with tender words entreating](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28699602) by [the_ragnarok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok)




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